


To be seen and not heard

by PolsVoice



Category: Batman (Comics), Green Arrow (Comics), Nightwing (Comics)
Genre: Blood and Injury, Hurt Dick Grayson, Jason Todd - Freeform, Superman - Freeform, tim drake - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-05
Updated: 2018-02-28
Packaged: 2019-03-13 22:32:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 32,571
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13580313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PolsVoice/pseuds/PolsVoice
Summary: Nightwing is injured while helping the JLA out on a mission. With the clock ticking and no easy way to get help, he is forced to hide out in one of the JLA's old bunkers. Unfortunately, he's not the only one.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I don't know where this idea came from or why I had to write it, but now I'm committed. 
> 
> A quick warning: this Fic will have some moderately graphic, fairly realistic depictions of injury and blood. The gore is not a main focus for most of the story, but if you're super-duper squeamish just be ready for it. 
> 
> Tags to be added as new characters/plot points show up.

Dick wasn’t really sure where he’d screwed up this time. There was something wrong. On his right side, just below his ribcage. And he was laying on a rooftop out in the open, trying to catch his breath while the city crumbled around him in what seemed like slow motion. Ironic, seeing as the few moments leading up to this had happened so damn fast. It had left him in a strange state of knowing, yet still wondering what the hell had just happened. Time to focus. Just like Batman had taught him. Concentrate on what he knew. 

Okay, so Lex Luthor, they were pretty certain anyway, had released a bunch of weird quadrupedal mechs in Metropolis. The Justice League had responded and most of the city had been evacuated without incident, but they had been quickly overwhelmed by the sheer number of the damn things. They had called him, asked if he could assemble a few of the Titans. Donna, Garth and Roy seemed to be the only ones on-planet and not on a different active mission at the moment. Which was kinda cool, in retrospect. All the originals back on the battlefield again, just like old times. He’d had no time to savour it though. They’d rallied quickly, met Superman and a couple other Leaguers at the designated location for a briefing. Then they were off. Dick had told his team to pair off with the League members, help out where they could. He’d reminded them to stay in contact in case anything changed. Donna had paired off with Wally, Garth with Aquaman and Roy had gone off…somewhere. Dick knew he was in the area, probably looking for Green Arrow, whose GPS signal had been nearby. If Batman had been there, Dick might have partnered up with him. But he hadn’t been there. So he’d gone off on his own. That was his first stupid decision. 

Dick had started by taking some of the mechs out. They hadn’t been much of a challenge on their own, but it seemed like for every one he took down there were three more waiting in the wings to replace it. He knew the supply couldn’t be limitless, but this was Lex Luthor. He would have certainly planned to have enough available to overwhelm the JLA while he did…whatever the next step in his end game was today. The thought had frustrated him, but it had also sparked an idea. Lex probably wasn’t anywhere near this battlefield. So these mechs had to be controlled remotely somehow. Probably with a main control unit nearby. It was then that he’d removed himself from the main battle and started scouting. He’d located two possible locations and had radioed the coordinates in, but he’d never told anyone where he was. Or where he’d be going next. That was his second stupid decision. 

He was on his way to check out a third potential location when a building had exploded, or more likely imploded, somewhere off to his left. It must have been fairly close, thinking back. The noise had drawn his attention initially, so loud that he’d felt it more than he’d actually heard it. It had disoriented him for a split second too long, and he’d barely seen a piece of concrete flying at him. Fast. The perfect height to take his head clean off. On instinct, he’d taken to the air to dodge it. It was working just fine until he caught sight of another piece of something, metal perhaps, flying towards him just as hard and fast as the concrete had been. He’d had to dodge that mid-air, changing his trajectory and his focus at a moments notice. It was a difficult maneuver, even for someone of his ability, but by some miracle he had done it without getting hit. His landing, however, was awkward and unsteady. He could hear Bruce’s voice in his head, reminding him that that’s what happened when you changed your mind in mid-air. It would have taken him a fraction of a second to make the correction to regain his balance, but the universe hadn’t awarded him that time. As soon as his second foot had hit the ground, he’d felt an intense pressure on his lower right side. It had knocked him to the ground. Hard. He supposes it must have knocked the wind out of him in retrospect, cause the next thing he remembered was trying to get a lung full of air. He’d never lost consciousness. Could remember, quite clearly, gasping for breath repeatedly as the world shook and small pieces of debris rained down from above him. Could remember the sound of windows breaking beneath him, the taste of dust as it settled in his open mouth. 

And here he was. Still laying on the rooftop, his breath coming back to him painfully slowly. But at least it was coming back. Enough so that he was able to spit out some of the disgusting paste the concrete dust had created in his mouth onto the rooftop beside him. The immediate threat to his life seemed to have passed. He was starting to feel the rumble beneath him lessen, was starting to get his wits back about him. He’d really like to confirm his theory with his own eyes though. Trust issues, he supposed. Maybe he needed to spend more time with the Titans and less time hiding in Batcaves. Taking a breath, he shifted, trying to push up on an unsteady arm. That’s when the pain decided to hit. Sharp and all encompassing. He could hear himself gasp, then quickly let out a curse loud enough to echo off the surrounding buildings before drawing a hand over his right side. 

“That…can’t be good,” he muttered to himself after his vision cleared and his breathing went back to normal. He was no stranger to pain, nor a stranger to injury. It gave him a sixth sense, in a way. A sense of when an injury was just an annoyance and when an injury was actually something to be concerned about. He knew somehow that this was one of those times where it was bad. How bad, he didn’t really know yet. That fact did nothing to settle his nerves, but he’d get over that. It was time to act. The pain wasn’t going away anytime soon. So he’d just have to suck it up and get on with it. 

Sitting up took just about all of the will power he had, but he had done it. It gave him a strange hope that maybe he’d been wrong. Maybe it was just something superficial and he could dust himself off and jump back into it. You know, go find a couple super computers. Really Ruin Lex’s day. But his hand, clamped securely over where it had hurt the most, had started to feel wet by this point. Blood. A fair bit of it too, if it had already started to seep into his glove. That lead to the part he’d been dreading…he was gonna have to look at it. 

“Okay…it won’t be that bad…” he psyched himself up quickly. Blood didn’t exactly send him running the other way, but he’d never liked it. Something about it just made him uncomfortable. Especially after the night his parents had fallen. He reminded himself, once again, that this wasn’t that. That he was hurt, sure, but his family was fine. Alive. Not in a pile of twisted limbs and broken bones on a sawdust floor. Carefully, his eyes hard and focused, he pulled his left hand away from the torn flesh. What he saw there had nearly made him gag. The first thing that had met his eyes had been a rush of blood. He could feel it spreading, see it leaving small droplets on the rooftop beneath him. It had obscured his view of the injury, but he could tell the wound was large and gaping and probably looked like something out of a horror movie. He was pretty sure there was still something in there, could feel an object of some sort, but he wasn’t going to spare it a second glance now. He replaced his hand quickly and tightly as his eyes turned away. He hadn’t been wrong. It was bad.

“Shit,” he muttered to no one, swallowing hard. He was out of the mission for sure. Now he was just a liability that needed to get to a surgeon as soon as possible. He could almost see the disapproving Bat-glare now, taste the disapproval radiating from underneath the cowl. He had to radio in. He knew he had to, but the deep shame he felt at having to do so made him pause. Mechs everywhere, a city getting destroyed around him, and he’d been taken out of the fight by a piece of debris while doing recon. That just wasn’t good enough. But it had been his own damn fault, hadn’t it? You commit the crime, you do the time. He’d deal with the scorn of the Justice League and his teammates later. He had a new mission he had to complete first. Lifting a shaky hand, he tried to activate the communicator in his mask. The lines had been quiet, he should have no issue reaching someone quickly. 

“This is Nightwing. I have a medical emergency and need a pickup at my coordinates ASAP,” he spoke into it with a false sense of confidence and waited. However, the only sound that met his ears was a strange static. His face twisted into a frown. That…wasn’t normal. He found himself tapping the communicator with a finger, switching it on and off, only to get the same result. “This is Nightwing, I have a medical emergency,” he tried again. Static. “Can anyone hear me? I need a medical evac.” White noise. 

“Of course. Of course my communicator is down,” he said with a groan that caused pain to flare in his side. He waited a moment for it to subside, to let his head clear a little. Okay, so his comm was down, probably his GPS too, likely damaged when he’d been hit. Therefore, no one knew where he was or that he needed help. Maybe someone was nearby? He hadn’t seen or heard anyone, but he knew Roy had taken off in this general direction after the briefing. And that had really been his third mistake, hadn’t it? Not staying within visual and auditory range if something went sideways. Like it was doing right now. Yep. He was gonna get one of those extra special Bat-Glares after this was all said and done. The kind where you wake up after surgery and it’s the first thing you see. But that was a ‘later’ problem. He had a few ‘right now’ problems to take care of first. 

He resigned himself to the pain as he sat up a little more. At least this time he’d expected it, prepared for it. He opened his eyes and scanned the area visually, then using the heat sensing capabilities in his mask. The closest human was much too far away to hear or see him. Superman might hear him. Maybe. If he was listening for it. Which, with the sounds of utter chaos Dick could hear a few kilometers away, was not likely. Dick hadn’t been quiet when that first jolt of pain had hit. If Superman had heard him, if he’d been listening, he’d be here already. Dick could probably move towards them. Get a little closer. If he had to. But it was incredibly risky. He possessed nowhere near the medical knowledge of Alfred, or Bruce even, but he knew that whatever was inside him was likely stemming the blood flow to some extent. Moving could easily dislodge it and cause him to bleed out. Or force a sharp edge into one of his arteries or organs, also causing him to bleed out. Either way, it would quickly turn from a bad situation to a fatal situation. If he was careful, and lucky, maybe he could get close enough to be seen. With the way today was going though, it felt much more likely he’d be spotted by one of the mechs than by anyone who would want to help him. Waiting here was an option, but for how long he didn’t know. The fighting could shift, more mechs could come at any time. Hell, another building could collapse. To be honest, sitting still was not something he did well to start with. 

Then it occurred to him. They were in Metropolis, not Gotham! The JLA had bunkers in this city specifically for communication purposes. They had computers set up, and were about the safest place he could hope to find. Those bunkers were reinforced so well they’d probably survive the apocalypse. The nearest one was two, maybe three blocks away. Right near a little diner that he and Clark would sometimes go to out of costume. It was still risky, and it was gonna seriously suck, but he’d accomplished harder tasks under worse conditions. Staying out here wasn’t really the best option. He could already feel the blood spreading across the dark fabric of his uniform, could see the smear of red he’d left on the surface beneath him and he knew that getting to those comms was his best chance of getting help sooner rather than later. 

“Here goes nothing,” he told himself with a sigh. This was seriously gonna suck. 

~~~

It was only one quick swing to the ground, but every second had been like torture. And the landing? That had seriously hurt. He’d expected it to hurt, but not quite to the degree it had. To top it off, it had been a messy landing too, leaving him on his knees, one trembling hand braced against the concrete as the other wrapped tightly around his midsection. He shook his head violently, trying to will away the black spots swimming across his vision as he tried to regain his breath. He just needed to get to those comms. If he looked up, he could see the facade of the building that housed the computer unit. It was only a couple blocks, shorter than the ones in Gotham even, but at the moment it felt like an expanse big enough to land a jumbo jet on. 

He blinked heavily a couple times, eventually deciding that his condition was good enough to walk a couple blocks. Not that he had a lot of choice. He took a chance on standing, raising carefully on one knee and then the other. He hadn’t felt any real pain initially, but now that the object within him was shifting with every movement it was hard to block out. Even with the aid of Bruce’s techniques. A crashing wave of dizziness hit him as he finally got to his feet, causing him to stumble until he found the wall of the nearest building. It had caught him off guard, perhaps even frightened him a little, that loss of balance. Of control over his own body. He couldn’t help but think he probably looked like one of the drunks often found on Bludhaven streets right about now. All shaky and out of it. Tripping over his own feet. He allowed himself a moment for the feeling to pass, but no more. Out here, he was completely exposed. One mech would be more than enough to take him out right now. Hell, a strong wind might be enough to take him out right now. All he had to do was get to the bunker. Then he could scream and swear and feel like shit to his hearts content before calling for help. It would be his reward for getting there. “No problem,” he said to himself, unsure of why he needed the reassurance, “just a couple blocks…” One foot in front of the other. 

He used the wall the help offset his unsteady footing and focused his energy on keeping up the momentum of his steps. On a normal day he’d have been there in under a minute. Today? It felt like every step was a victory. But he took them none the less. Keeping focused. Blocking out the pain. Ignoring the feel of blood starting to drip down his leg. Taking one step, then another, until he reached his destination. He could practically taste relief as he saw the entrance he needed in front of him. A secret side entrance to a law firm, appropriately enough. He was so close now. With determination he punched a code into the hidden keypad he knew would work. It was an override code Batman had set up to work with all JLA bunkers. Dick had initially questioned if that was a security risk, but Bruce had simply told him that it was a calculated risk before giving him the codes Typical, cryptic Batman. Security risk or not, he was sure thankful now. His mind was too distracted just keeping himself upright to remember the exact access code he needed for this exact bunker. 

The sound of the lock disengaging was the sweetest sound he’d heard all day. Maybe all month even. A sigh of relief escaped him as he pushed the heavy door open, stumbled inside, and slammed the door shut behind him. The bunker itself was small, outdated and poorly lit. It was no Batcave, that was for sure, but it was good enough for him for the moment. He could analyze, scrutinize and memorize the details later. The computer system was there. That was what he’d come here for. He’d use it…soon. Right now, all he wanted, needed, was to sit down. Just for a minute. Two goddamn blocks and it had drained him. His fingers shook more than they had been before as he punched yet another code into the interior control panel. They left a smear of blood wherever they touched too, which would probably really freak out the next guy. The locks only took a second, maybe two, to slide into place. It felt like an hour. But it happened. And he’d completed the first and most crucial part of the plan. He’d gotten to the damn bunker. 

Dick couldn’t stop the pained groan that he let out. Couldn’t seem to stop himself when he turned his back and slid heavily down the door he’d just closed. There was no need to hide his pained grimaces now. And the pain…he swore it had just doubled. Probably a direct effect of the adrenaline that had been keeping him going starting to wear off. He let his head lean back against the door, couldn’t really stop it if he’d wanted to, which caused his bangs to fall across the lenses of his mask. 

At least he’d gotten here without too much incident. He’d managed not to make the injury significantly worse. Somehow. Though he wasn’t anywhere near out of the woods yet. He could clearly feel some of the effects of the blood loss starting to set in. He’d been much more focused on reaching the comms than stemming the bleed, and he’s guessing he could have held on a lot tighter to the gaping wound beneath his hand. He also had no way to tell if, or how much, he was bleeding internally. He knew he’d lost a significant amount of blood though. The symptoms were always the same. Dizzy, a little light headed, slight nausea, though he suspected that was more from the pain compounded by the stress he’d just put his body through than anything. He had to ignore all that. Do what Batman had taught him to do as Robin. To persevere. To get to the comms and get someone that could help. He could allow himself a minute to be miserable, to regain his bearings, but no more than that. Even if he had to crawl to that computer on his hands and knees. 

“Uncle Dick?” a small, cautious voice rang out seemingly out of nowhere. His eyes widened. Blood, what was left of it, ran cold in his veins. He knew that voice. He babysat that voice. There was only one person who referred to him by that title and she wasn’t anywhere near any of this. Frantic eyes darted around underneath his mask until they met a pair of equally frantic green eyes across the room. He felt his jaw drop. No. There was no way. 

“Lian?! What are you doing here?!”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warning: This is the most graphic and probably most disturbing chapter in the fic, so if you're sensitive to that kind of thing just be ready for it.

“Lian? What are you doing here?!” he found himself asking, whipping his head wildly to where the girl sat underneath one of the sturdy tables littering the far wall. If he hadn’t already been sitting, the wave of dizziness the action caused would have knocked him flat on his ass. He stared dumbly as she watched him, sitting on her knees, hands wrapped around one of the table legs. Her black hair falling in her face despite her headband. All he could really focus on were her wide green eyes. His own eyes probably looked much the same behind his mask. It had to be a mistake…maybe he’d hit his head when he was knocked back? It could be a hallucination. But as his vision steadied, he could clearly see the familiar form of Roy Harper’s little daughter. He needed to say something. She’d just seen that whole thing. Him giving in to the injury like that. He had to think of something. She hadn’t answered him from before. He could try again. 

“What…what are you doing here?” he asked once he found his voice, trying to keep his tone free of the confusion, the outrage he was feeling right now. Her eyes focused on his, mouth closing as she took a breath in. 

“Daddy couldn’t find a babysitter, so he said I had to stay here,” she informed him, pushing herself a little further behind the leg of the table. That’s when Dick noticed the backpack next to her, the tablet forgotten about on the floor with a jacket in front of it she’d likely been laying on moments before he’d stumbled in. Dick had to hold back the groan that threatened to escape him. Of course. Of course this is where Roy had decided to stash his daughter for safekeeping…in the same near-abandoned JLA communications shack that he’d decided to bleed out in today. Was the universe just out to get him or something? 

“Is my Daddy okay?” her small voice cut through his invasive thoughts. He blinked hard. He hadn’t even thought of that. Had failed to realize that this wasn’t just him anymore. He had to take care her. Ease her fears if he was able. All while keeping himself alive. He could do that. He could. He’d done it before. 

“He was fine last I saw him. I think he was heading off to find Green Arrow. They’re probably together right now,” he said as lightly as he could, trying in earnest to ease her worry somewhat. It would have worked on him at this age. Hell, it’d work on him now. Nothing eased his own fears quite like knowing his family was alive and well and, even better yet, together. Like it should be. It didn’t seem to work too well on Lian though. It was probably the sight of him that was making her so apprehensive, he realized after a moment. He must look awful. Pale and sick looking if he had to guess. Most people in the early stages of blood loss were. He knew the hand around his midsection was a dead giveaway that something was wrong, that something had happened. If the obvious dust and debris on his costume, in his hair even, didn’t. He was at least thankful that his costume was mostly black. It would help mask most of the blood.

“You can come out if you want,” He steadied his voice as much as possible, tried to soften his expression. “It’s just me,” he reminded her. She eyed him suspiciously for a moment, before nodding and crawling out with a slight bite of her lip. She was way too young and innocent for this. He’d been 8 the first time he had seen something like this. His parents. He had been young an innocent then too. It…changed you. Seeing stuff like this. Despite the urgency of his situation now, he knew he had to protect her from it. Best he could. There was nothing he could do about the blood, but she didn’t need to know how bad the situation really was. She didn’t need to know that his vision had been swimming slightly the whole time. That his heart rate was starting to pick up. That the light headedness was starting to become incredibly distracting. 

Lian rose to her feet, taking a couple cautious steps towards him. He wasn’t used to Lian being so shy around him. She was a little weary of strangers, but she was never shy around people she knew. Dick had known her since she was an infant. Had in fact, been present the day Roy had brought her home. He had to remind himself once again not to take it so personally. That it was the situation that was scaring her, not him. He watched her, trying to keep his expression relaxed, when he saw her stop suddenly, eyes going back to their widened state as her face fell. 

“That…that’s a lot of blood,” She said with a quiver in her voice that he had never heard before. Just a hint of panic, which wouldn’t help either of them right now. His hand tightened instinctively, applying more pressure, trying to stem the flow just a little bit more as if it would help erase anything she had just seen. A spike of pain hit him as he did this, but he quashed it before it could affect him. Mind over matter. At this point, all he could do was try to keep her calm and hope she didn’t cry. He honestly didn’t know what he was gonna do if she started crying. 

“What this? It’s just blood. I still have lots,” he assured her with a small smile and a laugh that made his side scream and his head swim. It was a line Batman had used in the past to reassure him. Granted, he didn’t smile when he’d said it. He always said it so it sounded all serious and broody. Regardless, the line had eased his own worries time and time again. Until he was old enough to know better, that is. Lian had been right in her assessment and he knew it. It was a lot of blood. Too much blood. He had more, enough for now, but for how long he couldn’t say with any certainty. He should have already made the call for help. And he would have…if he felt like he could get up without falling over.

“But …okay,” Lian conceded after a moment, unconvinced as she brought a hand up to her lip, still watching him carefully. 

“Way worse than it looks,” he said simply. The words were making him slightly breathless. His focus was also waning. But he could still see her gaze fixated on the bloody patch of uniform under his hand. If only there was something he could do…what did Batman, Bruce, used to do to with him when he was little? Plenty, he supposed, but it was usually small gestures. Things only Robin would pick up on. Things that would never work with Lian. 

He’s not sure why, but there is one particular memory that comes to him before any others. A horrible case he never liked to think back to. He was still young, maybe 9 or 10, only a few years older than Lian is now. Batman had always tried to keep him out of the ‘heavier’ cases back then. He regularly participated in stopping typical Gotham crime. Small stuff like robberies, kidnappings, and of course, solving riddles before public buildings could get blown to pieces. Occasionally Bruce would let him help out with something bigger. Gang violence, maybe a murder case if it wasn’t too fucked up, but for the most part he was kept in the dark about the worst that Gotham had to offer.

One night, though, they’d been tracking a small arms dealer who had been making a name for himself in the Gotham underground. He’d helped in tracking down the location of a few of his key people, so that weekend they’d decided to go see if they could get any of them to talk. Instead, they’d found what those men had termed an ‘interrogation chamber’. Looking back it was really more of a torture chamber that they had been funding through the small arms deals. Bruce had no way of knowing. They’d kept it quiet, ultimately killed anyone who entered it so the word would never get out. It had worked. 

Dick had seen everything that night. Things his preteen brain could never have even fathomed. He’s pretty sure a lot of the memory is repressed, as he remembers it mostly in muted colours and brief flashes. He remembers the dead body of a boy not much older than he was, his mutilated father across the room crying out for someone to help. But not for his son. It was for his teenage daughter who was being raped in the next room. There may have been other victims there too, he wasn’t sure. He really only remembers that family clearly. The man’s yelling, the girls crying, the boys’ lifeless eyes. It would have been traumatic seeing it now as a seasoned vigilante, never mind back then. He’d choked it back at the time and simply acted, following Batman’s lead like it were any other case. They’d called for help for the victims and beat the people responsible to a bloody pulp before the Gotham PD had locked them up and thrown away the key. 

Batman hadn’t said much to him initially, just told him that he had done well under the circumstances and that they would discuss this once they got home. Dick hadn’t lasted that long, breaking down in the Batmobile just outside of city limits. Batman, not Bruce, but Batman, had apologized to him before easing him out of the panic attack, then letting him cry until he’d exhausted himself. They spoke about it at home the next day, like Bruce had promised. He’d assured Dick he’d done well that night, exceptionally well, he believed were the exact words, before explaining that there were some sick people out there and sometimes you just couldn’t save everyone. He’d told him that they were too late for those people, but their actions still saved a lot of lives. And knowing that had helped…kinda. After they’d finished talking, Bruce had handed him a long list. Tasks he’d expected Dick to complete by that Friday. Some of it had been things he would have done anyway, like practice his triple flip and help Alfred clean and restock the Batcave, but some of it had been arbitrary stuff too, like reading a certain novel and counting the number of crystals on the chandelier in the front hall…he remembered that one not so much because of the strangeness of the request as the large note next to it reminding him that he was to do this from the ground, as he was not to swing from the chandeliers anymore. 

It had taken him a day or two to realize that Bruce was trying to keep him distracted. Make it so the memory of that night wasn’t the sole focus of the next few days. That had helped too…kinda. Maybe it was a tactic he could use now with Lian, though. She was smart. Helpful by nature. And at this point, he wasn’t anywhere near his best and could really use the help. It’s not like he really had a better idea. 

“Lian?” He asked and waited a moment for the girl to look up, meeting the eyes of his mask with her watery ones. It pained him to see the unshed tears starting to form. There was no blood relation between them, of course, but Roy had been one of his best friends since his early teens. It was natural to think of his daughter as something of a niece at this point. Besides, Dick knew DNA wasn’t everything. He had no blood relation to any of his family. But he couldn’t dwell on that now. His surrogate niece or not, he had her attention and if he wanted to pull this off he had to act fast. He was still light headed, that had never stopped, but the blurring at the edges of his vision was new and alarming. “Do you know how to turn the computer on?” he asked her. 

“Daddy said I’m not supposed to touch the computer,” she informed him cautiously. Crap. Of course he did. Dick could work around that. 

“Normally he’s right but…” And Dick paused suddenly, completely lost in his own thoughts for no good reason. The action was disturbing, especially for him. He was declining, he realized distantly, but forced it away. Focus. He’d been convincing Lian about the computer, “But you won’t get in any trouble this time. I’ll tell your dad I said to do it, so if he gets mad at anyone it’ll have to be at me. We uh…really need to get a hold of someone,” he managed to get out. The little speech winded him, caused black spots to start dancing in his vision. The room was feeling too warm, his stomach uneasy. He had to hold it together. He’d had worse.

“He does listen to you,” Lian said, her expression changing to something closer to acceptance. Dick would have laughed at the innocent observation if it didn’t hurt so damn much every time he moved. “I don’t know how it works though,” she admits quietly, looking down. 

“It’s pretty easy, really. Under that desk over there is a green switch. All you have to do is flick it on. Like a light switch. Think you can do that for me?” Dick asks, his voice starting to sound shaky to his own ears. Lian doesn’t seem to notice. He can see her nod. Her form is starting to get pretty blurry though. So is everything else. 

“Uh-huh,” she says. Determined. A sharp contrast from just minutes before. At least Bruce’s method seems to be working. Who would have thought? He sees her duck under the desk just before his head lolls back against the door. He’s losing his fight with consciousness. A little too much blood lost. A little too much stress on his body. Not enough adrenaline to keep him going. He couldn’t let this happen now. He had to get the computer started up. 

“It’s a green switch,” he reminds her as a way to keep himself focused. That’s when he notices he isn’t just losing his grip on reality, he’s also losing his grip on his injury. The hand he’d been using to hold pressure had gone slack at some point. He tightened it instinctually, a spike of pain letting him know that his hand had actually done what he’d told it. That couldn’t happen. He had to hold pressure. Lots of it. If nothing else, the pain would keep him focused. 

“I don’t see it,” he hears her say distantly from underneath the desk. It sounds a little like she’s deep in a tunnel. The world is tilting dangerously. He needs to stay with it. Stay alert. Get someone on the comms. Keep pressure on the bleed. Keep Lian busy. 

“Look up. It should be right under the desk,” he slurred out. His limbs feel useless in that moment. He feels the hand he’d been using to hold pressure, the one he’s readjusted barely a minute ago, slip. There was nothing he could do about it. His body wasn’t his to control anymore, it seemed. He tried to regain his senses, but there was nothing he could do to ward off the darkness clouding his vision this time. He thought he heard Lian’s voice again, far off in the distance, but whatever she had said, he couldn’t decipher. 

~~~

The first thing he registers is the feeling of cold cement against his cheek, though he has no idea how he ended up on the floor. He knew he was injured. Could feel the pain of something on his right side. Bleeding, he was pretty sure. He remembered something about bleeding. 

“Uncle Dick?” he hears. Lian is here too. He thinks she’s okay, but he’d better check. He cracks an eye open carefully, seeing a pair of small red sneakers before anything else. “Uncle Dick are you okay?” he hears her ask again. The words are a little strained, a little bit hurried, but steady enough. He couldn’t have been out long. Maybe a minute. Just long enough for Lian to notice and crawl out from under the desk to stand over him. She had been trying to get the computer started, but he really wasn’t sure if she had. 

“I’m okay, Lian,” he manages to choke out, but his voice sounds weak. He’d been bleeding. Badly. And he was pretty sure it wasn’t being controlled. He drew a shaky hand to where he felt the most pain. It was wet. And warm. Definitely not stopped. He’d have to do something about that soon. 

“What happened?” he heard from above him, slightly confused. He tried to prop himself up on one elbow, groaning softly as the action jostled something inside of him that should never have been there. 

“I…think I passed out,” he explained. It sounded so stupid once he’d said it. She knew that already. There was a wall next to him. He grit his teeth, moving slowly and carefully until he sat heavily against it. Once he’d settled, he looked up to Lian, to make sure she was okay. He could see the worry written on her face, the tears welling up in her eyes. Oh god. He hated it when kids cried. “I’m okay,” he reassured her, steadying his voice, “That just happens sometimes when people get hurt,” he tells her. Lame explanation. He just can’t quite seem to get his thoughts together enough for a better one. 

“I got the computer to start,” she tells him, voice thick with emotion. It drew his eyes open, which he had apparently closed at some point, to the glowing monitor. Yes. She’d done it. 

“I knew you could do it,” Dick said with a small smile. But her attention seemed to be focused elsewhere, face turning from worried to fearful. 

“Uncle Dick, You’re bleeding more,” she tells him quietly, pointing down at his uniform. It feels as though his heart skips a beat. Maybe it does. 

“What?” He asked weakly before his eyes scan down quickly to his midsection. Then widen as a shaky breath catches in his throat. Drops of blood were falling, leaving a small puddle on the floor. It wasn’t doing that before. 

“Oh god,” he let out before he could stop himself. He’d obviously not been holding pressure, had no doubt shifted haphazardly when he’d fell. Maybe he’d dislodged something. Maybe he’d driven it in deeper. Either way, the situation had changed and he needed to deal with it it. Otherwise they might just be radioing in a body recovery. No, that was wrong. Not ‘They’. Lian. Lian would be radioing in a body recovery. Oh god. He couldn’t let that happen. That made his decision easy. The injury needed to be dealt with first. And fast. “Hey Lian? Did you see a first aid kit somewhere around here?” 

“Yeah,” the girl chokes out with a nod, “there’s one under the desk,” she continues with a small sniffle. She’s upset. Understandably. But he still hates it. That she’s upset. That he can’t do anything about it. He can’t even risk hugging her right now. He wishes things were different, but he also knows wishing is never productive.

“Can you go grab it? Bring it over here?” he asks as gently as he could, though he was sure they both knew it was an order. His hand clamped harder around his own bleeding flesh. 

“What about the computer?” she asks in a small voice. It’s a good point. The sooner he can get help on the way the better. If they do this quickly they’ll still have plenty of time. 

“We’ll get to it. Soon,” he assures her with a shake in his voice. He pauses a moment, startled by the feeling of blood starting to drip through his fingers. “There’s something…” and he pauses again, this time to swallow down his guilt. How can he possibly ask her to help him with this part? Roy’s sweet little daughter who should never have to see injuries like this, never mind be a responsible party in treating them? But then again, watching him die would probably be worse on her long-term. He knew what that felt like all too well. The searing guilt of failing to save a life. There were so many faces. Strangers. Acquaintances. Family. His parents. Jason. He couldn’t let it happen to her too. Not yet. Not this way. “We need to try and patch this up first. I’ll need the first aid kit for that.”

She says nothing, or at least he doesn’t hear her say anything, as she disappears back under the desk. The first aid kit is much too big and much too heavy for her. She drags it along the floor anyway, without a word of complaint, not letting up until the first aid kit sat just off to his side. Only then does she let herself sit down. A touch heavily, Dick notes. The whole ordeal is probably tiring her out but, tiredness and emotion be damned, she gives no indication that she’s anywhere near giving up. He uses his free hand to open the kit, rifle through it in search of anything that he could use to stem the bleeding. It’s then that he realizes that he really has little idea what he’s dealing with. He ends up with two very different types of dressings laid out before him and no idea which one to use. The quick look he’d had on the rooftop had told him basically nothing. He knew there was an object in there, could feel that. A fairly large one best he could tell, but he had no idea how far it went, how large an area the damage really spanned. The thought made bile rise in his throat, but he knew what he had to do next. He had to look. Again. Actually look. He knows he’d chickened out last time. He couldn’t do the same this time. 

“You can count pretty high, can’t you Lian?”He asks the girl, who quirks her head to the side. 

“I guess so,” she tells him. He nods at this, only shallowly. Anything more than that would inevitably make him dizzy. If he passed out again, before they get the bleeding controlled, he may not wake up. He couldn’t chance a full nod. 

“Think you can close your eyes and count to 30?” he asks her, pleading silently with her to just say yes. It would be so much easier for both of them if she just said yes. 

“Yeah, but why?” she asks him with a frown. Dammit. He should come up with something. He really should. Some kind of excuse. But he doesn’t. She’s young, but she’s far from stupid. And he’s running out of time. 

“I…well…I need to look at how bad I’m cut and…I’m not sure you should see it,” he tells her honestly after a moment. His brain is getting too fuzzy to think of anything but the truth, and he figures she deserved at least that much after going as far to help him as she already has. Her eyes go wide a moment, face twists into a mask of horror before she nods and closes her eyes. 

“1…2…” Dick takes a painful breath in to focus himself. He has to work fast. Has to do this. A rush of blood droplets fall to the floor a second after he removes his hand and he swallows hard. 

“8…9…” he braces himself and looks down. The lighting in the bunker leaves a lot to be desired, but even in the low light conditions he can see the glint of something metallic at the very edge of the wound, which was…larger than he thought. Gaping. Bloody. He tests it with his fingers, noting that he can see layers of exposed muscle and fat through the bleeding. The sight makes him grimace, nearly gag. He bites his lip softly instead. Hard enough to distract himself, not hard enough to draw blood. At least he couldn’t see bone. Bone always reminded him of his parents. Of when they fell. 

“17…18…” He estimates about a half-litre of blood on the ground already. He still has no idea what hit him. How big it is, how sharp, which of his internal structures it had hit to make him bleed like this. But it wasn’t sticking out as much as he thought it might be, he could probably chance covering it. Anything that would keep pressure more reliably than his shaky hands would be better. 

“22…23…23…um…?” he hears Lian stumble as he quickly throws his hand back over it. Applying pressure as best he can. 

“24,” he offers for her. 

“24…,” she continues. Now how exactly was he going to get the bandage on though? He’d already passed out once from doing nothing, and honestly, he didn’t feel any better after having done so. The pain involved would, no doubt, be incredible. Even more worrying, he’d have to move significantly. That could be as good as signing his own death warrant. 

“28…29…” Lian. Oh god. He’d have to get her to help him. that made him feel like gagging for a very different reason. He couldn’t….it was Roy’s little daughter. Wait. No. This is Roy’s daughter. Oliver Queen’s granddaughter. He needed to give her more credit than that. She could handle this. She had to. 

“Can I open my eyes now?” The girl asked cautiously, playing with a strand of hair. 

“Yeah, you can open your eyes. You’ve gotten really good at counting,” Dick tells her. It’s true. Not many kids her age could have made it all the way to ten, never mind thirty, with their surrogate Uncle bleeding out in front of them. Her green eyes open slowly and take the scene in. 

“I practice at school. And at home sometimes,” she tells him. She pauses after that, looks nervous suddenly, “is it…” she pauses, looking hesitant before continuing, “is it really bad?” she asks him in a whisper. Dick grimaces a little remembering the torn flesh beneath his fingers, the fresh blood drying on the floor. 

“It’s…pretty bad. I think we can make it a bit better though. Do you think…” and he could barely get the words out, “maybe you could help me? Get a bandage over it?” he tries to explain to her. He half-expected tears. If it had been him at that age he’d have probably cried. He’d have still helped, still have done what was needed, but he’d have probably cried. To his surprise, however, Lian doesn’t falter like she had before. He sees the fear still, the uncertainty, but he also sees determination on her face this time. She can help. She wants to help. 

“What do I have to do?” She asks with only a slight tremble in her voice. All of a sudden he’s proud of her. So proud. He can hardly believe this is the same baby girl Roy had brought home all those years ago. After all this, when it was all over, he’d be sure to tell Roy just how well she’d done. 

“Could you hand me the scissors?” he asks motioning to the first aid kit. A small part of him whispered about how Alfred would not be happy about him chopping up his costume, but he found the logic to be ridiculous under the circumstances. And kind of hilarious too. That couldn’t be a good sign. 

“Um…” Lian started, rifling through the kit with her tiny hands until finally holding up a pair of specialty scissors the JLA kept stocked to cut through bulletproof fabric. She quirked an eyebrow at them. She looked so much like Roy whenever she did that. “Like this?” she asked, holding them up where he could see. He nods quickly, but stops when a wave of dizziness hits so intensely that he has to brace himself with his free hand. He’d forgotten not to nod. He knew not to do it and he’d forgotten. He reminds himself harshly that passing out was not an option. Falling over was not an option. 

He hadn’t quite gotten his bearings yet, but he couldn’t wait for it. He pulled his glove off with his teeth and let it tumble to the floor. It tasted like blood and made a wet sound when it hit the floor despite it having not been the one in direct contact with the injury. Then he held a hand out, a hand that looks way too pale to his eyes, and feels the scissors drop into it almost immediately. He starts making a mental checklist, asking himself if he has everything he needs before he starts. It’s usually second nature, done without a single thought given. This was far from the first time he’d had to bandage himself up under less than ideal conditions. It worried him that he had to actually think about what he was doing this time around, but he couldn’t let that get to him. His heart rate was already much too quick and elevating it further could cause him to bleed out more quickly. No. focus. The supplies. Scissors. Dressing. Tensor bandage to hold that in place. Tape. He can work with it. He ventures a careful glance to Lian who has simply been watching him, ready to do whatever he needs her to do next. 

“You’re probably gonna want some gloves. There’s a whole bunch in the kit somewhere,” he tells her. No need for her to get her hands dirty. Maybe he has spent too long with Alfred after all. She says nothing, immediately turning her attention to the task she’d been given. Dick sucked in a breath, knowing what he needed to do next. He wouldn’t need to cut much of the fabric away, just enough so that it wouldn’t interfere with the dressing. Carefully, but quickly he removes his hand and cuts away at the edges of the torn Kevlar. 

That is, until he hears a little gasp to his left. He turns, once again too quickly, shaking off the way the world swims, to look at Lian. Who’s starring directly at the gross, torn flesh of his abdomen. He feels a moment of panic that doesn’t do him any favours before quickly grabbing the pressure dressing and covering it back up, ignoring the sharp spike of pain the action brought. 

“Lian, don’t look,” he tells her quickly. It’s much too late. She’s already seen it. Her expression tells him at least that much. What the hell had happened to not letting her see anything? She was right there…what had he been thinking? 

“That…that looks like it really hurts,” she says in a small voice. It wasn’t exactly the reaction he was expecting. But then again, he’d been expecting her to cry this whole time and she hadn’t. Dick wills himself to focus. Keep himself grounded. He can’t panic now. He has to get control of the situation back. 

“It does hurt. But that’s okay, I’ve had way worse,” he tells her. His voice is strained. Even he hears how badly. It’s a minor problem at the moment. The constant dizziness he was starting to feel wasn’t though. 

“Uncle Connor got cut really bad one time, but he’s okay now,” she says. If Dick weren’t so goddamned dizzy, he’d really appreciate her attempt to make him feel better. 

“Exactly. Sometimes it looks really bad when it happens, but in a few months? It won’t look like much of anything. Just a little scar,” He tells her. He should know. His count of scars was probably in the hundreds now. Mostly small, but occasionally large, mementos from his years swinging from grapple lines and punching bad guys. 

“Uncle Connor showed me his scar. And Daddy and Grampa Ollie have a whole bunch,” she informs him, speaking almost normally for a moment. Trying to reassure him. And he had to admit, it was kind of working. Though at what point she’d turned the tables on him, he wasn’t exactly sure. 

“You’ll have to remind me to show you this one too after this is all over,” he says. Dizzy or not, he had to get this bandage in place, and looks down at the tensor bandage with disdain. Why did it have to be Lian that paid for his mistakes? Too late to back out now though. “I think I’m gonna need your help with this part. We have to use that bandage to hold this one in place,” he explained to the girl. 

“This one?” she asks, picking up the elastic fabric. He urges her to hand it to him. 

“I’ll hold one end and I need you to wrap it around me, okay?” Dick explains. Best he can, anyhow. Not like he can show her. She’s probably seen this process before. She is an Arrow. He holds one end in place as promised and she takes the other end with both hands. “And uh…we need to try to do it a bit fast, too.” 

“Okay,” she says. He looks at her carefully. His vision isn’t terribly clear, but she looks like she understands. He leans away from the wall, using a hand to brace himself. Feels her starting to pull the bandage along his back before passing off hands to wrap around the front. Dick knows he is far from the largest guy in the hero community, but it seems to take her whole arm span to pass the bandage from hand to hand. The bandage…he should really be double checking her work, shouldn’t he? He looks down at what she’s done so far. It’s not bad. Tidy and in the right place. But it’s much too loose. Wouldn’t even stop a small bleed at this tension. He’d been hoping the elasticity of the bandage would compensate for her lack of strength, but he hadn’t counted on her holding back. 

“Lian?” he asks to get her attention. She pauses a moment, her eyes looking right at him. “This is a really good start,” he motions to the bandage, “but…we’ll need to go a lot tighter on the next couple rounds, okay? A lot tighter. Tight as you can go,” He gets out. The words wind him, just slightly. 

“As tight as I can go?” she asks quietly, disbelieving. 

“Yeah, and you can’t stop until it’s done,” he adds, knowing this was an all or nothing shot. He’s already delayed calling for help for this. If it doesn’t work, if they don’t get it right the first time, then he’s just wasted time he didn’t have. 

“But I don’t want to hurt you!” Lian protests, her voice much too loud against his ear. It’s sweet. How much she cares. Sometimes it reminds him of Tim. That inherent empathy. It’s a shame he can’t indulge her right now. 

“Lian, listen. I won’t lie to you. It’s gonna hurt. A lot. But it’s what’s best in the long run. You were right before. The bleeding got worse, and we need to try and stop it, okay? Sometimes…you have to make something worse before it gets better,” He tried to explain to her, though he purposefully left out the part where they could also make the situation a hell of a lot worse. It was a risk. Everything he’d done since this piece of god-knows-what struck him has been a risk. An effort to buy him more time. She didn’t have to know that part. Though, judging by the conflicted look on her face, he figured she already kind of suspected things weren’t as good as he was making them out to be. So he continued.

“I need you to try, okay? And I might…scream, or pass out, or whatever else, but you have to keep going until it’s finished. No matter what,” He reminds her. God he hopes she gets it. She really looks like she wants to protest, biting her lip softly, eyes downcast. “After that’s done we’ll call your dad. How’s that sound?” he asks as softly as he can. The mention of calling Roy seems to be enough, which he’s thankful for. That little speech took just about everything he had left. She nods fervently as he sees the room tilt sideways. He’s pretty sure he’s still upright though. For now. 

“Tight as I can go,” She says, perhaps more to herself, looking at the bandage in her hands. But it got through. And Dick nearly regrets asking. She probably isn’t much stronger than an average six-year old girl, but she apparently follows instructions to the letter. She pulls relentlessly as she continues to wrap. He holds his breath, bites his tongue. He’s trained for this. He can handle pain. He can’t cry out. He just can’t. All that training. Bruce would be disappointed in him if he lost it now. 

“Are you okay?” He hears her ask. He’s not. Not really. It’ll catch up to him, because it always does. But he still nods weakly. Tries to smile, but can’t. 

“Keep going,” he tells her with a grimace. He thinks he hears her agree. She continues regardless, and he can’t decide if he wants to cry or throw up as the bandage passes over the wound one final time. Real or imagined, he swears he can feel whatever is embedded in him get driven just a little bit deeper in. And this time he does cry out. Loud and strangled. Pain and fear. He can’t help it this time. 

“I’m sorry!” She yells immediately. It focuses him. Takes his mind off the black spots invading his vision. Off the searing pain. The fear that he just made a horrible mistake. His breath is coming too quickly. Panting. He forces it to slow. They aren’t done yet. 

“It’s okay. You done?” He asks her. Or tries too. It comes out mostly as a mumble. 

“Yeah,” she says. He looks down at her small, blurry hands holding the edge of the bandage to keep it from unraveling. The tape is in his hand, he remembers. Has been there the whole time. He knows he won’t be able to get his hands to work properly, so he uses his teeth to tear a strip off. Then another. He isn’t too sure how he does it, the details were incredibly fuzzy, the world fading in and out, but somehow he ends up looking down at a secured dressing. 

“Looks good,” he tries to assure her, but the words aren’t right. Slurred. That had hurt. And he definitely felt light headed. Sick. Like before. When he passed out. He couldn’t do that again. He just had to keep busy. Force himself to make sure the dressing was clean, that he hadn’t started to bleed through it. He manages that, at least. The dressing looks clean. After that, his train of thought derails. His vision swims violently. All he can feel is pain. Violent angry pain, but he can’t pinpoint the source. It feels like he’s not even in his own body anymore, but he knows that’s ridiculous. Where else would he be?

“Now we can call daddy?” he hears Lian ask him. He can’t see her anymore. Can’t see anything anymore. He really hopes he just has his eyes closed. 

“Yeah we’ll call your dad now,” he says. They can call her dad. Call Roy. Roy will know what to do. Get him out of this. That’s what they do for each other. He expects her to be excited but instead he just hears nothing, which he knows is wrong. He forces his eyes open. She has a sour look on her face, seems to be confused about something. 

“What?” he hears her ask. It sounds like he’s underwater. But he isn’t. Why didn’t she understand? Had he slurred his words? Had he said them at all? God. He really, really didn’t feel well.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter will be up sometime after the weekend. Any mistakes? Let me know.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings for (mostly mentions in this chapter) blood and gore.

Dick had screwed up. He knew he’d screwed up. Sure, he was still new to Robin, but it was no excuse. He knew better. All that training Bruce had put him through, all those hours of studying and training and proving himself and he’d still failed tonight. He hadn’t listened and foolishly given away their position. They’d walked away with their lives, thankfully, but Bruce had been hurt. Stab wound. It looked bad too. Bruce hadn’t even tried to play it down. Dick had been concerned and had tried to help, but Batman had sternly brushed him off before going to Dr. Leslie to get it taken care of. Dick really didn’t know Dr. Leslie that well, but she seemed just as unhappy with him as Bruce was, though she couldn’t possibly have known it had been his fault…could she? Maybe she could see it. That he clearly was not good enough to be out there. That he wasn’t good enough to help people like Bruce did. Tonight had proved that, hadn’t it? Maybe she could clearly see that he wasn’t good enough to be with Bruce at all. 

They’d told him to wait in the office. That Alfred would come to take him home, but Dick knew that he’d screwed up too bad this time. He was certain this would be the last night he’d be allowed out as Robin and it was probably the last night he’d get to spend with Bruce and Alfred too before they realized what he really was. A failure. A fraud. A burden. He was supposed to have waited for Alfred, but the longer he waited the more the guilt and the fear had eaten away at him. He couldn’t face Alfred. Or Leslie. Especially not Bruce. Not after tonight. After he’d gotten him hurt. He was supposed to wait, but instead he had snuck out the window and run off into the night, little yellow cape trailing behind him the whole way. 

He wasn’t sure how long he’d been running, or how far he’d gone. He’d ended up at some playground eventually. Deserted, which was unsurprising seeing as it was night time in Gotham. No halfway decent parent would let their kids out now. His parents sure wouldn’t have let him out alone in Gotham at night…if they’d been alive. The thought had been too much. His parents weren’t alive. He’d never see them again. And now he was going to lose his new family too. He was too big to cry, he was Robin now and Robin didn’t cry. But even that didn’t seem to stop him as he curled up at the top of the slide, using his cape to try and keep out some of the cold. 

He was nearly asleep by the time he heard a strange whoosh followed by the sound of someone landing in the sand nearby. It was cold, so cold that he was shivering under his cape. He tried to hide in the darkness like Bruce had shown him, tried to be ready for a fight as the footsteps came closer, though a shameful, weak part of him wondered what the point would even be? 

“Robin?” he heard someone call out to him gently. The voice was familiar, and wasn’t threatening, but he was on edge and couldn’t risk exposing his location…not twice in the same night anyway. “Robin, you can come out. It’s just me. Superman.”

Now that had gotten his attention. What was Superman doing in Gotham? And why would he be looking for Dick? Was he mad that he had gotten Bruce hurt too? Would more of the JLA show up? Wiping up a couple more tears, because there’s no way he’d let Superman of all people see him like that, he poked his head out cautiously. He caused this. He’d just have to face the music. “What are you doing here?” Dick had asked, trying to keep his voice steady like Bruce had taught him and failing at that too. 

“Batman called me. The doctor at the clinic, Um…Leslie, wouldn’t let him leave, so he asked if I could find you instead,” Superman explained. It was simple, yet so complex. Batman didn’t send other people to do his work, in his city. Maybe he was hurt worse than Dick thought. Or maybe he just didn’t want to deal with Dick. Oh god, maybe it was both. Maybe Bruce would die, like his parents had died, and his last thought would be of what a mistake it was to take in some circus orphan. Dick ducked back behind the guardrail once more as new tears fell at the thought. Why did he have to do this now? In front of Superman? “Robin? Will you come down so we can talk?”

He didn’t want to, he really didn’t want to, but it was Superman asking. A man he’d idolized only second to Bruce himself. He collected himself best he could. Wiping tears away with the edge of his cape, drawing a gloved hand over his runny nose. Alfred wouldn’t approve, of course. He also wouldn’t approve of the flip Dick did off the railing rather than use the slide. And Dick knew it was an unnecessary risk, but he loved flying. And if he was going to have to face Superman, admit to what he’d done…well at least he had that one small moment of happiness first. 

“Is Batman okay?” Dick asked quietly, taking a few cautious steps towards the hero in blue. That was the worst part of all this. It was bad that he’d screwed up, that he’d failed, but his failure had gotten Bruce hurt. Maybe even really badly. He had no right to wear the cape. 

“He’ll be fine. Leslie wanted to keep him overnight as a precaution, is all. Otherwise he would have come himself,” Superman had assured him. But Dick wasn’t sure. He supposed Superman had sensed this too, kneeling down to get closer to Dick’s level. Dick couldn’t quite meet his eye. “He was really worried about you,” Superman told him gently. Dick shook his head, fighting back a new batch of tears. 

“Why? It’s all my fault,” Dick explained in a small voice. He couldn’t look at the man of steel. He should have known better. Bruce had taught him better. 

“Hey, it isn’t your fault,” Superman tried to reassure him, but Dick quickly cut him off, however rude that was. He didn’t understand what Dick had done. How bad he’d let Bruce down. Bruce had given him everything after his parents died and all he did in return was get him stabbed by some thug in an alley. 

“It is, though! I gave away our position! If I’d…if I’d just listened…maybe…,” Dick had to stop, couldn’t stand to look into Superman’s sympathetic eyes right now. Why couldn’t he have just listened? 

“Robin, everyone makes mistakes,” Superman had started, but Dick cut him off once again. 

“He’s gonna send me away!” he blurted out. He wasn’t sure where it had come from, he certainly hadn’t planned to say it. Least of all to Superman, who had looked positively stunned. Dick tried to stop the tremble of his lower lip, had tried to ignore the heat returning to his cheeks, but this was Superman…there was no way he missed the tear sliding down his face. 

“What?” Superman asked him, confused and likely caught off guard. Dick sniffled. Of course he’d have to explain it. 

“I screwed up. He’s gonna send me back,” Dick tried. He knew it cleared up nothing, he just couldn’t bring himself to say the exact words. Bruce would realize that Dick wasn’t talented, or special, or worth keeping around. And then he’d send him back. If he was really lucky, maybe he’d get into a foster home. But no one got that lucky twice. They’d for sure be sending him back to Juvie. He hadn’t told Bruce or Alfred, he’d never tell anyone, but he still had nightmares of the place. The things he’d seen, and heard, the other boys he’d met there. Why hadn’t he just listened? 

“Send you back? But isn’t he your father?” Superman asked. The question was innocent, but one Dick hadn’t really expected him to ask. He supposed it made sense that people in the JLA would think he was Bruce’s son, but the truth spawned a hurt inside him that he had been trying to ignore for some time. Bruce wasn’t his father. Bruce reminded him of that fact often enough. His own father was dead. And Dick could never replace his parents, never wanted to. It felt like a betrayal in a lot of ways. He loved his parents so much. But lately, just to himself sometimes, he’d started to think of Bruce as his second father. He’d seen it in movies, heard some stories while he was in the system of kids getting adopted, finding new families after losing their original ones. New moms and dads. Sometimes even brothers and sisters too. He’d sort of secretly hoped he’d found that with Bruce and Alfred. And now…now he was gonna lose that too. 

“No. He just looks after me,” Dick admitted, turning his eyes downward. 

“Oh. I see,” Superman said surprised. Dick realized miserably that that was another mistake he’d made tonight…Superman hadn’t known. He’d just given him a clue to their identities. At least he didn’t press for more details. Why couldn’t he just do anything right tonight? “Listen, Robin,” Superman cut his thoughts off. Dick looked up instinctually, meeting Superman’s warm blue eyes, “Whether he’s your father or not, I know he cares a great deal about you. He wouldn’t have called me otherwise. Batman only asks for help when it’s something important, you know.” 

Somehow the words had resonated with him. There was a stubborn logic to them anyway. Batman didn’t call for help if it was at all avoidable. And he downright hated when other heroes came to Gotham. Maybe he really had been worried? Worried enough to call in Superman, of all people, to bring him back. Maybe…just maybe there was a small chance that Bruce could forgive him? The moments after that were something of a blur. 

He threw his arms around Superman’s neck quickly, not sparing a second thought as to what he was doing. He hastily explained how sorry he was, asking Superman in disjointed sentences to please, please tell Batman he was really sorry. How he wouldn’t ever do it again. How he’d never meant for any of it to happen this time. Superman had hugged him back, and listened to his rambling patiently, which Dick had found comfort in. For all of Bruce’s good traits, he struggled with affection where Dick often craved it. Needed it. Bruce had hugged him once or twice, but deep down it had never felt like enough. Eventually he’d calmed down and pulled away.

“I’m sorry,” Dick had mumbled eventually, once he’d calmed down. He pulled away quickly, ashamed of himself for losing it the way he had. Like some little kid instead of Robin. But superman didn’t seem to mind, oddly enough. He even went so far as to put a hand on Dick’s shoulder. 

“You have nothing to be sorry about,” Superman assured him, though Dick really didn’t believe it, “Except maybe running off and making everyone worry. How about I fly you home?” He asked. It was music to Dick’s ears. The flying was usually enough to get him hyped up for weeks, but…Superman had called it home. That was way better than flying. 

~~~

It was a dream. No. A memory. But this…is real. He’s pretty sure. Only he’s the one injured this time. It’s foggy still. Maybe he has a head injury, or he’s been drugged. Not like it would be the first time. 

He had to start with the basics. Was he in danger? All he could hear was a ringing in his ears, and he couldn’t get his eyes open more than a crack before they closed of their own accord. But he was pretty sure he saw a computer screen. His heart was racing, feeling like a flutter in his chest. He was on a floor. And it was freezing. An odd sound would filter in every once in a while, only slightly louder than the ringing…like a voice underwater. It could be from the computer, but he didn’t think so. He was also pretty sure it wasn’t his own voice. 

Something shook him and he felt a jolt of pain so intense it even made his teeth hurt. Instinctually, he tried to grab for whoever, or whatever, it was, but only managed to flop onto his back. He was in a JLA comm bunker, he remembered suddenly. 

“Wake up! Please! I said I was sorry!” he made the words out, barely, from somewhere above him. For a moment he thought maybe he was hallucinating. That was Lian’s voice. Though she’d never shown up in his hallucinations before. “Please get up,” he could hear her sob out weakly. That was Lian. The real Lian. She’d been here the whole time. 

“What happened?” he forced out. He had to get talking. To calm her down. He couldn’t quite get his eyes open to see her yet. He really hoped the question sounded enough like words for her to decipher it. 

“We were doing the bandage and then you fainted and you wouldn’t wake up,” she wailed in response. Right. Right. He’d been injured, they’d tried to cover it up. Then they were gonna call Roy…or did they call Roy?

“Is…” he paused as he felt a sharp pain rip through him again. And why was it so cold in here? He pushed the thought away, he needed to get help. That’s why he’d been down here in the first place. “Is anyone on their way?” he slurred out, his lead lolling to the side a little bit as he was finally able to open his eyes enough to start taking his surroundings in. 

“No! We didn’t even call yet, don’t you remember?!” She snapped in response. If he’d been all there, he’d have winced. She was Roy’s daughter, and her having a bit of a temper sometimes was to be expected, but she was normally such a polite, happy girl. He must have made her pretty upset to speak to an adult like that. He really should apologize…

“I’m sorry, Lian. I don’t really remember,” He said. There was so much more he wanted, needed, to add to that, but the fog in his head was only just starting to lift. Full conversations just weren’t on his resume right now. 

“I thought you were dead,” she sobbed miserably. That had gotten his attention, the guilt he felt motivating him to take a better look at her just then. To open his eyes fully. She was indeed crying. He had known that from her voice alone. How had he let things get to this point? To think he was the cause of any of this, even unintentionally, disgusted him. He had to fix this. Somehow.

“Hey, I’m not that easy to get rid of,” he joked as lightly as he could. Truth be told, he was lucky to have woken up at all. It seems to calm her somewhat, her sobs halting a little bit. It took way too much effort to get up on one arm, and if he’d gritted his teeth any harder he’s sure they would have shattered, but he forced himself up slowly until he came to rest against the wall as he had been before. His vision swam dangerously but there was no way he was gonna give in to it. Not this time, anyway. 

“You wouldn’t wake up,” she told him with a sniffle. 

“I’m awake now, aren’t I?” he tells her, forcing the tremble to stay out of his voice. Just how long had he been down for? It was definitely more than a few seconds this time. 

“I guess so,” she concedes with a small nod. “Did I do something wrong?” She blurts out after a pause. His vision has cleared just enough to see her wide, expectant eyes, boring into the lenses of his mask. Waiting for an answer. If his heart wasn’t currently working so hard to pump what was left of his blood through his body, it would have broken for her. 

“No. No, you didn’t do anything wrong,” he answers quickly, his voice steadier now than it had been the whole time he’d been down here. The words winded him a little bit near the end, but there was no way he could let her think any of this had been her fault. “You did exactly what you needed to. I passed out because I was hurt from before, not because of anything you did,” he elaborates, taking a deep, painful breath at the end. He got a sniffle and a nod in response, and at least that was something. He’d have given anything to be able to pick her up and hug her right now. Maybe there was something else he could do though. “How about we call your dad?” 

“I don’t know how to use that computer,” she informs him with a shrug, wiping away at her drying tears. 

“It’s easy, I promise,” he assures her. “I can do most of it,” he hopes he can anyway. He’s feeling both better and worse than when he woke up. For the second time. Though at least it looks as though the field dressing they made is holding up. The material looks clean aside from a few finger prints. 

“What do I have to do?” she asks, getting back to task as though her breakdown a moment ago had almost never happened. She even remembers to pull off the bloody gloves she’s wearing. He can’t help but be impressed. She’s handling all this incredibly well for someone so young and inexperienced. Going from upset to focused so quickly it would have made his head spin…more than it already was. Roy would probably pitch a fit, but he couldn’t help but think that with a little training, she could make one hell of a Speedy in her own right in a few years. The basics are all there. She’s smart and observant. She cares about people, is always eager to help. Just wily enough to keep Ollie or Connor on their toes without putting them in real danger. Convincing Roy of any of that would be quite another matter, though. One best left for another day. And preferably another person. 

“On the computer screen, you’ll find an icon that looks like a shield, all you have to do is press on that and put your hand on the scanner when it tells you,” He explains. Then wonders if Lian’s handprint will even work…his own will of course, but he’d have to get over there somehow before he could use it and he…really wasn’t sure he’d be able to do that. He felt half-way to passing out again just leaning against the wall. Lian was probably in the system…someone had to have put her in there at some point. At least for emergencies. Maybe not Roy, he tried to keep her as far from this life as possible, but it does sound like something Ollie might do. 

“Communications cannot be activated without positive handprint ID,” he hears the generic female voice of the comm system. How did Lian get over there so fast? She’d even crawled up onto the desk. He barely even noticed her leave his side. How could he have missed that? He squints to try and see exactly what was up on the screen, but all he can make out is a blue background and a fuzzy black box. 

“Put your hand on the black square and wait until it tells you what to do next,” Dick explains to her when he doesn’t see her move. He thinks she nods, and he sees her tiny hand press up against the screen like he’d instructed. He takes a closer look at the bandage they’d done while she’s distracted. It wasn’t magic, it would do nothing for the pain, or for the blood he’s already lost, but it at least appears to be holding. It’s all he can really hope for. The more time he can buy himself the better, since it was really starting to feel like he might be running out of it. The thought was terrifying. Physically, he felt terrible, knew he was starting to cut it close, but if they got someone on the comms now…he’d be okay. He’d make it home. 

“Access granted. Authorization: Harper, Lian.” His first lucky break all day and he couldn’t even savour it. The relief crashes over him like a wave. He doesn’t even care who gave access on the JLA computers to a six year old right now. 

“Uncle Dick?” he hears her ask, a hint of worry in her tone. At some point he’d leaned his head back against the wall, closed his eyes. He snaps his head to look at her and nearly loses his balance. He can’t let her know. It doesn’t matter now. They’re so close to getting out of this. He just has to hold on until they get someone on the comms. 

“Yeah, I’m just fine, you did great. Now all you have to do is press the icon that looks like a man talking and I think I can take it from here for a little bit. But stay where you are. I’ll need you again in a minute,” he tells her. He doesn’t see it, but he knows she’s done it when he hears the computers voice again. 

“Voice commands activated. Please state your codename,” it says. Showtime. 

“Nightwing.”

“…Voice recognized: Nightwing.” It says after a beat. Lian sits dutifully near the computer screen. He’s sure she’s seen this before. Has some idea of how the system works. He’ll still do as much as possible. 

“Open comm screens,” He says in as loud of a voice as he can muster. It pauses. 

“Access restricted: Nightwing, without positive handprint ID,” It informs him. Makes sense…the handprint and voice didn’t match. Small hiccup, nothing he couldn’t handle. He had a contingency for this, at least. 

“Override code B-4-T-C-4-V-3,” he says as loud as he can. His voice still sounds off. Weak. And the near-shouting is starting to make him light headed. This had better work. He wasn’t going to get a lot of second chances. 

“Override granted. Opening main communications screen,” It says. He sighs in relief, which turns out hurts like a bitch. He bites his lip with a hiss to avoid worrying Lian any more than he already has. He pauses to let the spike of pain pass. She’ll still need to press the icons. The security system will still want a fingerprint for the actual communications, but at least he can navigate for her. Or could…if he could see the screen clearly. Is that supposed to be the home screen? Why was the world so out of focus? And seriously, would it break the JLA budget if they raised the temperature in here a few degrees? 

“Lian, do you see a bunch of logos on the screen?” he asks her. He hears her shift a little before answering. 

“Yeah,” she says. Dick nods shallowly. 

“Do you know what your dad’s looks like?” He asks. He honestly can’t remember if she does or not. Then again he isn’t sure he can remember what Roy’s insignia looks like at the moment. He berates himself again. For being pathetic. For being weak. Relying on a six year old to get him out of a situation he never should have gotten himself into in the first place. 

“Yeah, it’s red with an arrow on it…but I don’t see it,” she tells him. He should have known that. The computer defaults to a main screen that displays active JLA members. Without the visual reminder, and no doubt because of the condition he’s currently in, he’d forgotten. Just another small hiccup. Not a problem. He’d be talking to Roy soon enough. Roy would get him some help. Get Lian out of here. 

“Computer. Display Titans,” he asks again, but his voice quivers at the end. He isn’t sure why. 

“Command not understood,” it tells him immediately. Shit. He had to do better than this. 

“Display. Titans.” He tries again, slower and louder. It makes him dizzy. He knows he’s lost too much blood. He’s pretty sure he’s at the point where it’s starting to get bad. Like the kind where the probability of his survival is starting to equal the probability of his death. But he has to keep fighting through it. They laugh at words like ‘lethal’ where he comes from. 

“There it is!” he hears Lian say proudly. 

“Go ahead and press it. It’ll go through to your dad. Tell him…to get here quick,” he instructs her. God, finally. Just a few more minutes. Help would be here soon. He only had to hold on a few more minutes. He couldn’t help but let the tiredness creep in just a little. Maybe Roy would even have a spare blanket to offer him to fight the cold off some. He hadn’t noticed how cold it was down here until now. How Lian could be in a t-shirt and three-quarter length tights he had no idea, but it didn’t seem to bother her. Maybe he should encourage her to put her jacket on. 

“I…I don’t think it’s doing anything,” Lian says slowly. Eyes that he hadn’t realized he’s closed snap open. 

“What?!” he asks. It has to be a mistake. Has to be. His life is depending on it being a mistake. In what world does Roy Harper not pick up on an incoming communication from his daughter?! Then he realizes…there is no world where Roy ignores a call from his little girl. Something is wrong. Maybe he’s hurt? Maybe he’s in some sort of danger? His worry peaks, just for a moment. It’s irrational. He knows nothing yet, so he can’t jump to conclusions. Roy is fine until proven otherwise. So something else must be wrong. Something is off…what is it? The answer comes to him after a few seconds. He doesn’t hear the tone letting him know that he comm was trying to get through. The tone that would also alert Roy to pick up his communicator. He moves his head slowly, trying to avoid the dizzy feeling, trying to maybe hold off seeing what he really didn’t want to just a few moments longer. But he couldn’t delay forever, and his heart sank the moment he saw the screen. His vision was swimming, out of focus still, but he knew that screen too well. It was the screen that told them when a signal couldn’t reach the intended device. Okay, so maybe Roy’s communicator had been damaged. His own had been, after all. It wasn’t too far of a stretch. 

“Um…okay,” Dick said aloud, trying to collect himself, to think through the confusion starting to gnaw at his mind. He had to do better. He had to think. Roy was far from the only person nearby. “Do you know what Green Arrow’s icon looks like?” it comes to him finally. 

“It’s like Daddy’s, but green,” she says. 

“That’s right. Computer, bring up current JLA roster,” he says, using the last of his breath to get the command out. When did he become short of breath exactly? He pauses a minute. Waits for the computer. “See it?” he asks her. He really hopes she can, cause he really can’t. 

“Uh huh,” she says simply. He thinks she’s probably gone ahead and clicked on it, but he can’t be sure. He’s pretty sure his eyes are closed again. 

“Click on that if you haven’t yet. Tell him he needs to get here quickly, okay?” Dick reminds her. It’s the most important part. He could feel it setting in. The shock. He’d only felt it a handful of times before, could probably count the times on his fingers. The first time was when Two-Face had beat him nearly to death. He’d never forgotten that feeling. He’d only been a kid then, but it didn’t seem that long ago. The light-headedness was familiar, the weakness, the nausea. The tingle he was starting to feel in his fingers, though, that was different. Or maybe he just didn’t remember it from the last time. He looked down at them. They looked pale, but no different. That’s when something else caught his eye instead. His jaw nearly dropped. He managed to stop it, instead swallowing, biting his lip just a little bit so Lian wouldn’t see. There was definitely blood on the dressing. New blood. Not a lot, just a small stain really, but it meant they hadn’t stopped the bleed. He took a second to reassure himself. They’d probably still slowed it. And the object in him was probably blocking off whatever it had hit. If it wasn’t, he’d already be dead. He had to stay calm. He knew his heartrate had picked up and that wasn’t acceptable. This whole situation was unacceptable. 

“Uncle Dick, it’s doing the same thing as before,” he hears Lian say, distracting him from his thoughts. 

“No…” Dick said weakly, slowly bringing his eyes up to the screen. Same massage. Oh god…That wasn’t good. At all. He had to think...realistically, what were the odds that His, Roy’s and now Ollie’s comms had all had unfortunate accidents? It wasn’t the system. The computer would alert them if there’d been an internal malfunction. Maybe it was a problem with the JLA comms? Superman and Aquaman had both requested communicator swaps when they’d initially rallied, which wasn’t enough to raise eyebrows at the time, but it was a bit too much of a coincidence for his taste now. 

“What do we do now?” Lian asks in a steady voice. She has no idea that he’s running out of options. And time. And answers. But he couldn’t give up yet. He just needed someone that wasn’t on the JLA comm system. Most of the people he knew and trusted were here, outside fighting. But there was one person he knew would come through for him who wasn’t. 

“Computer, bring up current Teen Titans roster,” he requested, sounding just a little bit more desperate than he wanted to. He was just…so tired, despite the adrenaline running through him. 

“Command not understood,” The computer informed him, forcing him to hold back the growl he desperately wants to let out in response. Lian was holding it together right now. He couldn’t risk changing that. 

“Display. Teen. Titans,” He said forcefully. He needed to get someone on the comms. Anyone. And Robin…Tim…would come through for him. He hadn’t been Robin long, but so far he was shaping up to be the best one out of all of them. He’d never failed to come through for them before. “Lian? Do you see one that looks like an R? I need you to find and press on that one. It’s gonna put you through to Robin,” he said to her. He wasn’t sure if Tim had ever even met Lian, but they were aware of each other’s existence. It would be enough. 

“I found it,” Lian assured him. He watched the screen intently his time as it swayed dangerously in his vision. He couldn’t panic. Panic would cause him to bleed more…it would be so much easier to stay calm if he could just catch his damn breath though. He kept his eyes open this time, focused fully on the screen. Tim would come through. He had to. 

“Goddammit,” he spits out a curse when he sees the screen colour change to the ‘unavailable’ message, fails to hear the tone that lets him know the transmission is getting to Tim. He heard Lian gasp at his harsh tone and use of the word. He’d forgotten to censor himself, and somehow that grounds him, reminds him that this was bigger than just him. “I’m sorry. Maybe don’t tell your dad I said that. Let’s…let’s try one more, okay?” he asked the girl, his voice sounding…off. But this time the waver was different. Emotional. 

“Then what?” she asks quietly. If it had been someone else who’d asked that right now, he probably would have snapped, lashing out until he’d passed out again from a lack of oxygen. She hadn’t meant it as a criticism. It was said with such innocence…she really was just asking what they were gonna do if it didn’t work like the others. But it had to work. He only had to hold on a few more minutes, right? Help would be coming. He’d cheated death so many times before. 

“We’ll figure that out if we come to it. Computer, display current JLA roster,” he said, using the last of his will to make his voice loud and steady enough to activate the system. Truth was, he didn’t really have a contingency if this fell through. This was the contingency. He couldn’t exactly go get help himself and there was absolutely no way he was sending Lian out there to do so on his behalf. There was still one variable though…someone would come for Lian eventually. If not Roy, than one of the other arrows for sure. There was not a chance in hell they’d forget her. When they come for her, they’ll find him too. He just hopes it’ll be sooner rather than later. He spares a glance down to see the red on the white dressing had spread out just a little bit more. “Do you see an icon that has a bat on it?” he asks her just a touch desperately. 

“The one for Batman?” she asks. Dick bites his lip. He has to hold it together. She can’t know that he’s starting to get desperate. Emotional. 

“Yes. Just call Batman, okay?” he says, voice tight. He knew that there was no reason for this to work where three others had failed. Was he hopeful? Sure, but he wasn’t stupid. Trying the same thing over and over again and expecting a different result was the definition of insanity, and he knew it. He wasn’t getting her to contact Batman for any special strategic reason. He was getting her to contact Batman because, like Lian, he just wanted his dad right now. 

“Is it going through?” he asks her when he hears nothing. His hearing had been off earlier. There was a chance it was now too. A small chance. He could open his eyes, he supposed. If he were feeling braver. If he could stand the sight of one more screen that told him that help wasn’t coming. Not even from Batman. 

“I don’t think it’s working, Uncle Dick,” she announced after a long pause and Dick had to take a deep breath and lower his head to keep this emotions in cheque. He needed to get over it. Pull himself together. Accept that Bruce wasn’t coming and move on. He was in costume. Nightwing doesn’t pull that kind of crap. Think it through. The computer was putting the transmissions out there. If there was an internal problem with the system it would have alerted them immediately. He was smarter than this. Batman wouldn’t have let him out of the cave if he hadn’t been smarter than this. The problem wasn’t the computer. And the odds were impossible that everyone’s communicator had been damaged in the same way at the same time…including his own. Maybe it hadn’t been damaged when he’d been hit. Maybe he couldn’t get it to work because the signal couldn’t reach anyone, not because the communicator itself was broken. It didn’t matter now, not really, but he had to know. Maybe if they found out now, it could help someone later. Someone else. 

“Computer, run transmitter test,” he says, ignoring the young girl watching him from the computer for the moment. He waited, disheartened despite his resolve to figure it out. They were fighting Lex Luthor. He was distracting them, creating utter chaos…it was no stretch to think he’d intentionally screwed with the comm channels too. An EMP generator would do it no problem, knock out basically all the electronics in range. The computer down here probably only worked because it was underground. 

“Transmission interference detected,” the computer informed him. He took in a painful, shuddering breath. That son of a bitch. It wasn’t enough that he had to disrupt a city and its residents, people who did absolutely nothing to deserve it, it wasn’t enough that the JLA had to call in the Titans for backup due to the chaos he’d caused, but then he had to go and fuck with the comms too?! The comms?! Dick’s only means of getting help, and for what?! 

“Fuck,” he lets escape his tight throat. Why couldn’t he have just told someone where he was going?! “FUCK!” he exploded, reaching a hand out to grab a handful of gauze from the first aid kit and throw it just because he could. It made him wince like hell and draw a hand over the dressing where pain was starting to explode from the action. The adrenaline was keeping him from passing out for now, but it wouldn’t last. He’d crash. Soon. Then…he didn’t even want to think about it. Death had only been a hypothetical. A consequence if everything else failed. It isn’t supposed to be this way. ‘Everything else’ was failing and there was nothing he could do about it. It wasn’t a hypothetical anymore…it was an eventuality. 

He caught movement at the computer where Lian was and realized after a moment that the girl was huddling in on herself. Scared. She’d probably never seen him like this. She really never should have. He’d lost control. A bitter part of him hopes at least Lex had gotten what he wanted out of this. He needs to calm down. Comfort her. Tell her everything was okay. But he froze. It wasn’t okay. Not at all. Everything was just so fucked up. 

“Should I…call someone else?” Lian’s small, fearful voice rang out after a long silence. Dick sucked in a breath to try and steady himself. Then another. It hurt like hell, but the pain was starting to fade into the background slowly. 

“It’s…it won’t go through. The problem is much bigger than anything we can fix down here,” he tells her, just barely above a whisper. It was all he could manage right now. The adrenaline rush a moment ago had felt good, but his heart rate had spiked and the spot of blood on this dressing had doubled in size in that short time. He was screwed. Someone would come back for Lian, and as soon as possible, but that could still be hours if they were caught up. He didn’t have hours. He could feel himself getting worse by the minute. He couldn’t even seem to get a good breath in and his heart felt like it was fluttering in his chest. Everything just felt…distant. Almost like it wasn’t real. But he knows it is. He wasn’t sure exactly how much blood he’d lost at this point, but it was too much and he was still losing more. He couldn’t even reassure himself with the fact that at least he wasn’t alone, because traumatizing Lian just… wasn’t a good trade off. 

‘’Uncle Dick? Are you crying?” she asks so quietly he isn’t sure he’s even heard it at first. He draws a quick breath in. He…isn’t sure. His face feels damp but…so does the rest of him. His uniform is saturated with both blood and the sweat that had been forming on his clammy skin and he can’t tell which is which anymore. He manages somehow to draw a hand up to his face to wipe just under his mask, but it was futile. He’s pretty sure he just spread blood onto his face and nothing else. 

“No, of course not,” he says quickly. It sounds weak and his voice does sound kind of emotional despite him. Lian shifts to the edge of the desk, letting her feet dangle off the side. He can just barely make out when she rests her hands in her lap. 

“It’s okay,” she reminds him, “sometimes I cry when I’m hurt too,” and he closes his eyes and smiles, just a little. Sometimes he honestly thought that Roy Harper was the luckiest guy in the world. He isn’t sure he’s ever actually told Roy that, now that he thinks about it. 

“Hey Lian? Promise me you’ll never stop being so sweet, okay?” he says. He’s not really sure why he says it exactly. This lifestyle, even if you were only on the outskirts tended to…change you. He saw it in Bruce, each of the Titans, he was starting to see it in Tim. He certainly saw it in himself. Maybe Lian could be spared that if someone reminded her often enough that kindness and compassion weren’t weaknesses. Maybe she’d be unchanged. Stay this sweet little girl forever. 

“Okay, I promise,” she says shyly. Satisfied with this, he closes his eyes and leans his head back against the unforgiving wall.

“Computer, keep comm lines open at all times,” he instructs, using the last of his strength and good sense to give the command. In an instant he hears a faint static filling the room. Just static though. Maybe the comms would start working again. Maybe not. He had to try. For Lian. For Tim. If he was going to go out, he was gonna do it fighting. 

“Lian, if you hear anyone on the line, all you have to do is press the button on the bottom and you’ll be able to talk too,” he tells her. His brain turns to mush quickly after. 

“What do we do till then?” she asks. He draws in a painful breath, letting it out slowly. 

“Wait. We just wait.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This took forever to edit, and I'm still not sure I'm happy with it, but it got to the point where I just had to post it. If you see any mistakes, let me know.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Same blood and gore warning as for the previous chapters.

He must be half-way out of it, because the small hand that shakes his shoulder surprises him. 

“Hey,” he greets Lian letting his eye fall to where she sat on her knees just off to his left. He had told her to come sit, but hadn’t let her get too close. There was still blood everywhere. 

“You’re supposed to stay awake,” she reminds him gently. He’d told her that too. That he needed to stay awake as long as possible. 

“I was,” he tells her. It was true…mostly anyway. It feels like an achievement at this point. God, all he wants to do is sleep. The lull of the static over the comms, still quietly mocking him, wasn’t helping. 

“You weren’t talking,” she points out. 

“Well, you weren’t saying anything,” he teases lightly, in a way he might have if Tim had been here instead. Even through the haze that was in his mind, he missed Tim right now. Would love to see the kid again. There was still so much he had to learn about being Robin. So much that Dick still wanted to teach him…

“I don’t know what to say,” she admits. And he thinks that that’s fair enough. What does a kid say to her dad’s dying friend? The thought sobers him. He feels his eyes widen just a fraction under his mask. He wasn’t dying…not really…was he? He had to stop thinking like that. 

“How’s your new school?” he offers for her. He doesn’t remember a lot, but Roy had mentioned it recently. He watches Lian shrug and shift her position on the floor, crossing her legs, letting her hands rest in her lap. He should tell her not to. The floor is cold. Though it may not be as cold as he thought. At a certain point he’d realized it wasn’t the room that was so cold, it was him. Lian had offered him her jacket when she’d seen him shivering, but he’d assured her he was fine. The suit was insulated. What he didn’t tell her was that it wouldn’t have helped even if he’d taken it. 

“It’s okay. I like gym the best, but I don’t like math,” she says. Dick half-smiles. 

“I liked gym best too,” he says with a small laugh that ends in a grimace. That had hurt. But at least the pain was something he could hold on to. Something he knew was real. 

“What kind of games did you used to play in first grade?” She asks with a bit of enthusiasm in her voice. Why was that question so hard to answer? First grade…he’d have been about Lian’s age, so 6…a couple years before he met Bruce. 

“I didn’t go to that kind of school when I was in first grade,” he said remembering slowly. He’d been traveling with the circus. He was never anywhere long enough for his parents to enroll him in a traditional school. 

“What kind of school did you go to?” she asked. The statement seemed to confuse her. It did with most kids. Most of them had at least a somewhat traditional upbringing, where as he had had anything but. It was always a little bit difficult for them to wrap their heads around it at first. 

“I was homeschooled. I went to a school like yours later,” he told her. It was after Bruce had taken him in. Even now he could remember how much of a culture shock that had been.

“Ooohhhh,” she exclaims, fascinated clearly by the thought of an alternate form of schooling. “Is that because you were in the circus? Like for real?” she asks, putting the story together in small bits. Though it appears she may not have believed Roy when he’d told her he was a circus kid. The humour of it all almost makes him forget how bad the situation is for a minute, and he starts to laugh before the sharp stab hits him. He can’t stop himself from crying out softly. He’d have curled in on himself too, but it seems his body was too weak for that much movement, even on an involuntary level. He didn’t even want to think about how bad of a sign that was. He couldn’t let the dark thoughts in. Not right now. 

“Are you okay?!” Lian asks, getting to her feet swiftly. The fear that had slowly been leaving her eyes was coming back again. God, how many times had he scared this poor girl half to death today? 

“I’m fine, just forgot it hurts to laugh,” he tells her, not quite managing to put a hand up like he’d planned. If his enemies could only see him now, struggling to move his own arm…it was kinda funny. In a not-funny way. Altered mental state, he supposes. “It’s true. I was in the circus when I was little. Until…” he stops himself. Does she know that part of the story? Of the reason he isn’t still with the circus? “Until Bruce took me in,” he covers. 

“Like how Grampa Ollie took my daddy in?” she asks, though she makes it sound more like a fact than a question as she settles back down on the floor. He wonders if she knows all of Roy’s story too. That her own biological grandparents are dead. He’s not gonna ask. She’s seen enough sad stuff today. She may still have to see more. He didn’t need to remind her of stuff like that. 

“A lot like that,” he confirms. Bruce had taken him in. Saved him. Had, perhaps unwittingly, given him a family. Bruce…was out there fighting right now. Had no idea that Dick was down here bleeding to death. Bruce had taken it so hard when Jason died. It might have destroyed him if Tim hadn’t stepped in when he did. Still, he wasn’t the same. None of them were. He had to hang on for Bruce. To stay awake. Bruce had already lost one son because he hadn’t gotten there in time. Dick couldn’t allow him to be too late twice. 

“Did you like my kind of school?” Lian asks as a follow up. He blinks a couple times to get himself back on track, dispel the horrible train of thought he’d somehow gotten on. He considers lying to her for a moment, but…it’s too much effort. Talking is too much effort right now, never mind coming up with lies to cover his lies. 

“Not really,” he says and sees her head quirk. 

“Really? Why not?” she asks. He supposes she didn’t expect the answer. Roy said she seemed to like school. Had said her grades were pretty good. That she was starting to make friends. He ponders how he can answer this exactly. 

“I just didn’t really fit in with the other kids,” he says finally. It’s an understatement. The school was one of the best in the area, filled with the children of the Gotham elite. He’d stood out like an elephant in a glass factory, clearly the odd kid out in such a prestigious academy. The nice ones had mostly just avoided him. The not as nice ones mocked him relentlessly, reminding him that he didn’t belong there. That he was nothing but a poor little orphan who got lucky that Bruce Wayne felt sorry for him after his carnie parents died. The really nasty ones would insinuate things that he didn’t even want to think about now. Things that…things that he had never, and would never, repeat to Bruce. 

“Uncle Dick? Did you start bleeding again?” Lian asks quietly, drawing him out of his thoughts. He looks down. No question, the dressing was getting kinda bloody on the one corner. He didn’t’ quite have the heart to tell her that the bleeding had never really stopped. That the situation had never improved. That it probably wouldn’t. 

“Not as much as before,” he reassures her. The bleeding had slowed, sure, but logically he knows this is probably just because his blood pressure’s started to bottom out. He’s lost so much blood already. So much that he could barely feel the pain from the foreign object inside him as his mind floated in and out of awareness. He wasn’t sure if he’d crossed the threshold of lethal yet, but it wouldn’t be long now. He had hope that the comms would start working any minute. That someone would show up. But then again, Jason had probably had hope too as the timer counted down in front of him…

“What…what was it like in the circus?” Lian asks, perhaps detecting the change in his mood, perhaps not wanting to talk about it anymore. Maybe she was just curious and really wanted to know. He didn’t know. The world seemed like it was getting further and further away. But the circus…he loved the circus. 

“It was the best,” he told her, forgoing the usual long tangent a question like that would send him off on. He couldn’t catch his breath long enough for it anyway. Couldn’t keep his mind clear. He remembered his parents. Pop Haley. The Elephants. “It was hard work. But it was fun. Everyone there was like family, even after my parents died.”

“Your mommy and daddy…died?!” Lian said in a quiet gasp, and Dick kicked himself mentally. He just couldn’t seem to do anything right today. What had happened to not telling her that part of the story? Roy obviously hadn’t…

“Yeah, they did. But it was…” how many hears had it been? He’d been 8 when it happened, but he couldn’t quite do the math, “It was a long time ago,” he decided on finally. He had to wonder though…were the stories true? About heaven? If he died here, today, would he get to see his mom and dad again? He wouldn’t change the way his life had played out if he could, he knew that, but it never stopped him from missing them terribly, wishing that they’d been a part of it somehow. Maybe, if whoever or whatever was in charge thought he’d been especially good, Jason would be there too. He’d get a second chance. To apologize. To be a real big brother instead of the jerk he had been. If he had to die today, here, if he had to leave everyone he loved behind… then that would sure be a hell of a consolation prize. 

“That’s really sad,” she tells him, and he knows she means it by the strain in her voice, the honesty in her tone. He can’t deny it. It was sad. It’s still sad. 

“Yeah. I’m lucky though. I got a second family,” he tells her. Bruce, Alfred, Tim…if only they were here now. Maybe it wouldn’t change anything, but at least he’d get to see them…

“Sometimes…Sometimes I wish my mommy was here more,” she says quietly, so quietly he almost missed it. Lian’s mom…what a mess that was. His heart ached for her despite its rapid pace. Lian almost never talked about her mom. 

“I know it’s tough without your mom there sometimes. Trust me, I do,” how many times had he wished desperately that his mom had been there? When he made the honour roll for the first time at his new school, the first night he’d been allowed out as Robin after months of grueling training, the day he nailed the quadruple flip that had been his parents trademark…Bruce and Alfred had been there, but it still hurt in a way. His mom would have been so proud. She never got to see any of it. It’s probably even worse for girls, not having a mom there. “You know you can always talk to one of us if you feel sad. It’s not the same as her being there but…sometimes it helps,” he assures her. 

“Even you?” she asks. And…he doesn’t know what to tell her. Of course he’d be included in that list….if he’s still there. He doesn’t want to tell her that, hell, he doesn’t even want to admit it to himself, but it could easily be a reality. Someone would come for her, but at this point all they’d be likely to find is Lian crying next to a corpse. Even if he somehow survived all that time, it’d probably still be too late. The damage would be too great. If he was lucky, though he used the term loosely, he might end up a vegetable that Bruce would be burdened with until one of them died. The comm showed no sign of becoming usable anytime soon. There was a small chance still…it was getting smaller by the minute, but there was still a chance. No need to upset her. Not yet. 

“Hey. I’ll do everything I can to be there for you whenever you need me,” he tells her honestly. He’d promised Tim the same thing not so long ago. Who would look out for him if Dick wasn’t there? He had a dad but he was…distracted, to say the least. The man barely seemed to remember he had a son most of the time. Bruce and Alfred would take care of him, but they couldn’t possibly understand what it was like to be Robin. The unique challenges, the overwhelming need to please. To prove yourself. No one else could understand that. Jason was dead. Bruce was still reeling from that. They all were, but Bruce had barely accepted Tim in the first place. If Dick died, he’d be all alone. Again. He wanted so badly to be there for all of them. Lian. Tim. The Titans. Bruce. But he was struggling. Struggling to control his breathing, struggling to remember what they had just been talking about, struggling not to just give in to the sleep he so desperately wanted…

“Daddy said you used to be Robin,” Lian said, probably trying to get his attention before he actually gave in and closed his eyes. It was as much question as statement. 

“Yeah. The first one,” he told her. Slurred. He was slurring again. He couldn’t do that. 

“How did you get to be Robin?” the girl asks, curious and…a little bit cautious? Like his journey to the pixie boots was some kind of forbidden fruit. Was he misreading this or was the girl perhaps looking for tips to becoming a sidekick herself? Maybe he was just projecting that onto her. He’d wanted Robin so badly back then…couldn’t really imagine a kid not wanting to be Robin in those days. Despite the moral grey area, he had to admit, he couldn’t imagine a kid not wanting Robin in these days. 

“It’s a long story,” he tells her, not able to rattle off details…or not remembering them? He felt something tickle his side a little…then again. He had to focus…but no. It was blood. Seeping out from the edge of the dressing. He’d soaked through it. No. He couldn’t worry about that. There was nothing they could do. He had to concentrate…Robin. “I had to convince Batman first…then he made me go through a lot of tests.”

“Oh…like math tests?” The girl asked with a hint of apprehension. Huh. Maybe he hadn’t been completely projecting that onto her. His state of mind couldn’t really be trusted though. 

“A couple were. Most weren’t really like the tests you take in school…more like…” more like what? Why couldn’t he focus? What were they talking about?

“Like fighting stuff?” she asks. Fighting stuff? Why would they be talking about fighting? There was blood slowly creeping down his side. One drop at a time. 

“Yeah, fighting stuff,” he said, mostly bluffing. It must have worked. Lian looks pleased with the answer. 

“It’s so cool that you got to be Robin,” he hears her say. Right. Robin. He should probably try to talk her out of that. Roy would probably want him to talk her out of that. Explain that it was dangerous. That one kid had already died being Robin. But he couldn’t. Robin had been the highlight of his life. 

“Yeah. It really was cool,” he says to her simply as his eyes slipped closed. Maybe he could just take a short nap. Regain some strength. Maybe just ten minutes. 

“Uncle Dick are you alright? You look sick,” he can hear her say. It takes him much too long to understand what she’d just said. 

“I…I think I need to… lie down for a while,” he says. He can feel himself slumping against the wall, couldn’t fight it if he tried. Shouldn’t moving hurt? Why didn’t it hurt? “Just wake me up if anything happens okay?” he remembers saying as his side slowly hit the floor. God, it was so cold…hopefully it was just the room. He never got her answer if she gave one, finally, finally giving in to the exhaustion that had been overtaking him for what felt like forever. He just hoped Bruce would understand how sorry he was. 

~~~

“I don’t know about this, Dick,” Tim said with a shake of his head and a sigh much too heavy for a thirteen year old. Dick had ventured a look towards the target Tim had been trying to hit for the past hour. It was a test of sorts Bruce had set up as a way for his Robins to learn the art of accurate throwing techniques. The concept was simple. No other training would take place until Robin had hit the target five times consecutively with a batarang. Said that it created incentive. It had taken Dick about a day, Jason a little more than two, which Dick only knew because the boy had boasted about it to him once, but Tim had been going on nearly a week with minimal success. Dick was pretty sure his record so far was two batarangs in a row, and they certainly hadn’t been bullseyes. At that pace he’d be there for another week at least.

“I was pretty sure you knew just about everything, being the smart one and all” Dick had joked from where he’d positioned himself upside-down on the parallel bars. He hadn’t really needed the practice, he’d done enough earlier in the day, but it was a convenient excuse to keep an eye on Tim. He had his suspicions about why the soon-to-be Robin was struggling so much with this particular task, but truly had no idea which theory, if any, was correct. He was hoping it was just nerves, that the joke would help the kid relax a little, convince him to not take it quite so seriously. However, it seemed to do the opposite. Tim didn’t look mad, but he frowned, taking a deep breath and turning his focus back to the target as he prepared to throw yet another batarang. Dick watched carefully. His form was good, a little stiff, but technically correct. In fact it was pretty much perfect, technically speaking. But the batarang, like the dozens before it, swung wide, just barely grazing the edge of the target before falling into the growing pile on the floor. It just didn’t make any sense. Tim had thrown it correctly. He watched as the boys shoulders hunched, heard the long intake of breath. He’d probably been at this for hours already. 

“You know Tim, it’s getting pretty late. Maybe you ought to call it a day. Or night. Whatever. Start fresh tomorrow,” Dick suggested. He didn’t seem to listen at first, picked up another batarang, started to set himself up again for the next attempt. Dick was about to try again when he spoke. 

“It’s okay, I can stay tonight. Mom and dad are still in the Caribbean, and there’s no one waiting for me at home,” Tim explained with a shrug. Dick couldn’t help but feel appalled by the words. By the lonely life Tim had lead thus far. It made his blood boil. Tim wasn’t exactly roughing it on the streets of Crime Alley like Jason had, but still, no kid should have to live like that. Especially a kid as amazing as Tim. “Besides, Bruce said I needed to keep working on this. There’s still lots of stuff for us to get to before I can start patrolling,” Tim added somberly at the end. Dick watched as Tim corrected his stance, took a breath and swung his arm, releasing the batarang at the last moment. This one simply clanked against the wall just behind the target, causing Tim to groan softly. 

“I know. All training stops until you hit five in a row. So says the Batman,” Dick said with a roll of his eyes. He remembered batarang throwing day all too well…it felt like it would never end after a certain point. Tim seemed to be a lot more the patient type than he ever was, but still…six days. Dick would have pulled his own hair out by now. “You know, he isn’t here right now. If you wanna practice something else for a while, I won’t say anything. You were doing pretty good on the rings last week,” Dick offered. 

“I…shouldn’t,” Tim said, twirling yet another batarang in his hand. “I mean…Bruce said this only took you a day,” he added after a moment. Funny. Dick had never really felt bad about that until then. 

“Come on, I practically cheated, growing up in a circus and all. You have any idea how many knife throwers I’ve been babysat by?” Dick tried to brush it off. It wasn’t really a lie, either. He picked up more than just acrobatics during his years in the circus. Knife throwing had come fairly easy to him. Turned out he also had a bit of a talent for lion taming too. Tim half-smiled at this at least. But even that half-smile seemed much too melancholy for the boy. Dick dropped down from the bars, letting his bare feet only just hit the mat before starting to walk over to where Tim was still playing with the batarang. He looked up as Dick approached, curious. 

“What don’t you know about?” Dick asked in a gentle tone, going back to Tim’s original statement. The boy’s lips thinned as he thought. Dick was pretty sure he was debating whether to tell him the truth or not. He’d have to get rid of that tell in the future, but they’d never get to the lesson on hiding your tells if he didn’t get past the batarang throwing first. “You can tell me. I won’t say anything to Bruce,” Dick assured him. 

“Just…I don’t know…maybe I’m just not really good at this,” Tim says eventually with a shrug, eyes looking away. 

“You aren’t going to be good at everything you try at first,” Dick pointed out gently. He knew he sure wasn’t. He remembered being small for his age and too weak to lift even the lightest weights Bruce had given him. Remembered the first time he got too over-confident with some drug dealers and nearly got himself shot. And how many times had Bruce had to remind him not to change his mind in mid-air because sprained ankles weren’t fun? Mistakes were just part of being Robin. Tim had to know this. He’d been following Robin for years. 

“I know, but…It’s been almost a week,” Tim continued in a low voice. Dick really felt bad for the kid, too. What was worse was he really didn’t know what he could tell him to make it better. Athleticism had always come so naturally to him. It was unusual for him to struggle with a challenge like this and that gave him little point of reference to draw from. 

“The important thing is that you learn it,” Dick reminded him. “Besides, you shouldn’t compare yourself to me. I got the batarang thing pretty quickly, but it took me a month to solve Bruce’s bogus who-dun-it case. You figured it out in what? Three days?” Dick asked. He’d been seriously impressed. So had Bruce. Tim was a natural detective. He’d never seen anything quite like it. If only he allowed himself to take the credit… 

“Five,” Tim corrected him with a sidelong glance. 

“I’m just saying, different Robins are gonna be good at different things,” Dick said. And it was true. Tim and Jason had plenty of strengths he had had to work hard to obtain. But Tim hadn’t seen that part. All the work, the countless hours of training and frustration in the Cave. 

“I guess,” Tim said, shrugging and looking away. Dick got the distinct feeling the issue ran much deeper than Tim was letting on. “Just…what if I’m not?” Tim asked eventually, eyes downcast. So that was it. Dick couldn’t help but put an arm around the kid’s shoulder. It was strange…he’d never really done this with Jason. Any of this. But there was a lot of stuff he never really did with Jason. Stuff that he regrets now. He couldn’t let it be the same with Tim. 

“You are. I know it, Bruce knows it…we wouldn’t have given you the uniform if we thought otherwise. This whole target throwing thing is really getting to you, isn’t it?” Dick asked. The boy’s eyes met his briefly. 

“Yeah, I guess so. I just think I should have done it by now,” Tim admitted. Dick took a moment to find it kind of funny that Tim thinks instead of feels…Bruce always phrased it like that that too. With Dick, fighting had always been more of a feeling than a thought. Perhaps for Bruce, and Tim, it was just as much the opposite. 

“Tim, what are you thinking about when you throw the batarang?” Dick asked him, curious. Tim seemed a little caught off guard by the question. 

“I don’t know. What Bruce taught me mostly. To set my legs apart just a bit, keep my shoulders squared. Use my whole arm and follow through with my wrist. Focus on keeping the batarang level while in the air. That sort of stuff,” Tim explained. None of it was wrong, in fact it was pretty much Bruce’s exact words. And maybe that was the problem. 

“What about the target?” Dick asked, trying to lead the young Robin to the conclusion himself. 

“What?” Tim asked, again caught off guard. 

“Tim, you’ve been practicing technique for six days. You can do that part in your sleep,” Dick started to explain, hoping Tim would get where he was going. 

“But I still can’t hit the target,” Tim said, shoulders slumping again, look of shame creeping back onto his face. 

“Look…when I throw a batarang, I’m not thinking about throwing the batarang. I’m thinking about hitting the target. I mean, who cares if you drop your shoulder, or take a step out, or don’t keep the batarang completely level? Does any of that really matter if you hit the target?” Dick said waving a hand for emphasis. He swore sometimes Tim reminded him so much of Bruce, overthinking something so simple. Getting so caught up in little details. 

“I never really thought of it like that,” Tim admitted, considering the batarang still in his hand in a new light. 

“It’s worth a shot, right? Afterall, it only took me a day,” Dick reminded him playfully with a hair ruffle. Tim had ducked away, but the good natured ribbing had finally gotten a smile out of him. “You’ll get it tomorrow. One way or another,” Dick had assured him quietly. 

Tim had said nothing in response, but Dick saw it. The determination in his eyes. Tim wasn’t going to give up. He’d work at it for the rest of the year if he had to. If it meant getting to be Robin. Dick had been so proud of him in that moment. It was a feeling he had…never really felt before. He wasn’t new to teaching people stuff, or offering up advice. He did it with the Titans all the time, but this was different somehow. There was a strange pride that came alongside helping Tim, watching the boy succeed, that was almost overwhelming. He’d never had that with Jason, had told himself he’d never wanted that with Jason. Oddly enough, with Tim, he found that he never wanted to let that go. 

~~~

Shaking. Pain. Someone standing over him. 

“Uncle Dick, Uncle Dick!! I think there’s someone on the radio!” he could hear loudly from above him. A kids voice. Where was he? Why did he feel so bad? What Radio? Shouldn’t someone answer that?

“Just answer it,” he offers weakly. You always had to answer the radios when a call came in. It could be an emergency, he remembered Batman telling him. Why was that so important right now? He had the strangest feeling that this was an emergency. 

“I don’t know how!” the kids voice said loud and frantic, echoing a little off walls he couldn’t see. There was a garbled sound in the background, but it didn’t make sense. None of this made sense. It made his head hurt. 

“Just…press the button,” he slurred out before it all went black. 

~~~

“You’re gonna die, you know,” he heard an obnoxious voice say from somewhere below him. Jason. Batman’s new Robin. Bruce’s new…no, not new…Bruce’s only kid. Dick glared down at the boy from his awkward position on the manors roof. 

“I’ll be fine, it’s not like I’m a stranger to high places,” He said back, though his tone sounded unusually harsh if he were being honest. It wasn’t that he didn’t like the kid, per se. He barely knew him, and he wouldn’t be able to really get to know him without Bruce interfering. If he’d wanted to, that is. It’s not like Dick had any sort of obligation to him. Bruce had adopted Jason, but Dick had only ever been his ward. It’s not like they were brothers or anything. Not really. Besides, the kid didn’t even like him. Dick was surprised he was even here looking in on him now. 

“It’s raining, you dumbass. That Branch will still be there when the weather changes,” Jason informed him. Kid was kind of a know-it-all sometimes too. 

“Not if the wind picks up and blows it into the power lines first. Then you’ll be complaining that you have to read Harry Potter by candlelight,” Dick shot back. He supposed he could be kind of a know-it-all sometimes too. Truth be told, he hadn’t even wanted to be at the manor this weekend. But Alfred had called, enticing him with promises of fresh-baked cookies and a home cooked meal. Dick couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a meal that didn’t come out of a box. Things had been under control at the tower, so once Alfred informed him that Bruce would be working late and their paths weren’t likely to cross, he’d let himself be reeled in. 

It was supposed to just be dinner, a quick dinner at that, but then the storm had hit. He had no idea if Alfred knew beforehand or if it was completely random. He would probably never know for sure. Alfred had insisted he stay the night, because it’d be unkind to allow an old man to worry all night over the thought of Dick going all the way back to Titans Tower on his bike in this weather. Bruce had said nothing, but he didn’t kick him out, so Dick stayed for Alfred’s sake. Then the roads started flooding, and what was supposed to be one night had turned into a weekend staycation. 

It had been hell so far. Jason had been as annoying as he remembered, turning everything they did into a competition and then childishly sulking if he didn’t win. Everything seemed like a challenge to be won in Jason’s eyes. Everything. From training, to video games, to who could finish their dinner first. Dick’s patience had quickly worn thin with the younger boy. Alfred, at least, had been well-meaning, though unintentionally overbearing, perhaps forgetting that Dick had been on his own for a few months now. That he didn’t need anyone to take care of him anymore. Maybe he could have brushed that off. Maybe. But Alfred had been subtly trying to get him to talk to Bruce the whole time, and that pissed him off in a way that would end with him getting his mouth washed out with soap if he didn’t consciously control it. Dick didn’t know why Alfred even tried, Bruce obviously hadn’t wanted to talk to him. His former guardian really hadn’t said a word to him all weekend, aside from when Alfred had told him to. He’d talked to Jason freely though. Asking about school, talking about Robin training, cases he was looking into…the way he used to speak to Dick. So when a sizeable branch had hit the roof near a main power line, Dick had jumped at the chance to do something about it. Just…anything to get away from that. Alfred had protested, even went so far as to try to get Bruce to intervene, but all Bruce had done was inform Alfred that Dick was old enough to make his own decisions. So Dick had decided that the branch needed to come down, rain and wind be damned. 

“I don’t read Harry Potter! And if the wind picks up enough to toss the branch around, then it’s probably also strong enough to throw you off the roof!” Jason protested loudly from the balcony of Dick’s…what used to be Dick’s room. And Dick wondered why the kid even cared in the first place. Probably just wanted to turn this into another pissing match. He was only about a foot away from the branch at this point. He had a plan. Move slowly and carefully. Adjust his stance as required to compensate for wind. Chuck the branch off to the side of the roof into the courtyard. Then climb back inside where he’d hole up in the guest room he’d been supplied, for as long as possible, until Alfred inevitably coaxed him out with dry towels and more cookies. Easy enough. 

“Nothing I can’t handle, Little Wing,” He told Jason confidently as his fingers just managed to graze a few leaves at the edge of the branch. He could feel the soles of his shoes starting to slide a little as he reached for it. Jason had a point, it was kinda dangerous, but he really couldn’t say he cared at the moment. He knew he could handle it. And if he did end up falling, then at least he could ride out the rest of the weekend in a hospital room instead of the manor. They probably even had that green jello he liked. 

“Fine, you wanna die? Go ahead, I don’t give a shit. It’s amazing you survived being Robin. Just saying,” Jason scoffed at him. Dick scowled. Who the hell is this kid to tell him that? He’d been Robin for eight years, this kid had only been Robin for eight minutes. 

“You don’t know the first goddamn thing about being Robin,” Dick practically hissed down at him before he could stop the words from leaving his mouth. His hand clamped down angrily around the offending branch so hard it hurt. 

“Pfft, If you were so great then why did Batman have to fire you?” the kid shot back, and Dick felt his blood turn to fire in his veins. He threw the branch off the roof violently, swaying slightly with the force of the throw. It had been stupid and rash. He’d been lucky not to lose his footing completely. Just who did this kid think he was? Dick heard the branch crash hard into the courtyard below and had to close his eyes and clench his fists hard to stop from going over to the balcony and throwing that snarky little asshole down after it. 

“Batman doesn’t know everything. If you last long enough, maybe one day you’ll figure that out,” Dick bit back harshly. He would have stayed up on that roof, rain be damned, much longer if not for Jason’s incessant talking. It’s not like he wanted to go back in. All he really wanted was to go back to the tower with a box full of cookies and sulk in his room until Donna got sick of his moping and dragged him back out. But he couldn’t even do that. He was pretty much stuck here till the road was fixed and it was all just making him crazy. He needed to get inside, get away from everyone. 

“Last long enough? Please. One day I’ll be Batman and I’ll clean up this whole city,” Jason replied with all the confidence in the world. Dick couldn’t help but scoff, not so much at the plan, but at his boldness. Jason may as well take up the mantle after Bruce. Dick sure didn’t want it. Bruce wouldn’t give it to him anyway. But god that kid was arrogant. “Maybe I’ll even let you be my sidekick,” He added almost as an afterthought. Because he couldn’t just poke the bear with a stick once. 

“Yeah, we’ll see,” Dick said sarcastically. Screw caution. He needed to get off this roof. Away from these people. He used the roof as a springboard, flipping once off of it, twisting at the end to catch the wet railing. He landed on the thin top rail with little effort, holding the landing for only a moment before gracefully flipping over that too, onto the surface of the neighbouring balcony. And Jason’s face…it was priceless. Eyes wide, mouth open…had the kid really thought he was gonna fall or something? So much for not giving a shit. To his credit, he recovered quickly, leaning against the railing on his balcony as if he were the coolest customer in the state. But Dick had caught it. That moment of panic. He had no idea what it meant.

“You really do have a death wish, don’t you?” Jason asked shaking his head just a little. Dick glanced at him sidelong. 

“What? Didn’t think I was gonna make it? This isn’t my first rodeo, you know. I’ve been pulling stunts like that since before I was Robin. Though I’m flattered that you were all concerned over my well-being,” Dick teased. He was still mad deep down, would be for a while yet, but getting that crack in had improved his mood dramatically. 

“Ha! As if. But if you feel like making it up to me, you could show me exactly how you did that,” Jason suggested. At least he’d been impressed, Dick supposed. He was flattered, sure, but he wasn’t exactly enthusiastic about helping Bruce train up his new Robin…his new son. A kid he hadn’t even mentioned to Dick before he’d taken in and adopted. Given him Robin. Robin had been his. His mother had given him that name and Bruce had given it to some arrogant little shit before even consulting him. No. Jason was Bruce’s problem, not his. 

“Sorry, I don’t have that kind of time. I’ll be out of here as soon as possible. Maybe Bruce will show you,” Dick said offhandedly, brushing some of his wet hair out of his eyes. Jason simply quirked his head, looking thoughtful a moment. 

“I’m not sure Bruce can do that,” He admitted after a beat. Dick couldn’t even see the compliment right then. Jason’s attitude had been insufferable, Alfred had been hovering over him like a mother hen he didn’t need or want, Bruce…Bruce wouldn’t even give him the time of day. He was cold, soaked from the rain, out of work to keep him distracted. Just mad at the world. The absolute last thing he wanted to deal with was Jason’s training. 

“Well then, I guess you’re on your own,” he’d told the boy with a shrug, before ducking back into the manor to try and ride out the rest of the weekend.

~~~

His next journey back into consciousness is much less gentle. He thinks it’s the pain that brings him out of it, and for the first few seconds, it’s all he can focus on. He isn’t sure if he cries out, isn’t sure who it is pressing down on his abdomen. It feels like an elephant just sat on him though. 

“It’s okay kid, I got you,” he manages to hear over the roar in his ears, the weightless void around him. He knows this man’s voice…from somewhere. All he knows for sure is it isn’t Bruce. 

“He’s gonna be okay, right Grampa Ollie?” a kids voice asks. He manages to remember that it’s Lian, but he isn’t sure why she’s on the field. Or why he is. But the voice from before. It’s Ollie. Green Arrow. 

“We’re gonna get him some help, okay honey?” Ollie’s voice says. It sounds distant, like he’s far away. But he can’t be. And the answer was…so vague. He knew he was probably hurt, but this sounded bad. No, it didn’t just sound bad…it was bad. Somehow he knew it was bad. His side hurt, it was hard to think, hard to breathe. 

“How bad is it?” a third voice asks. Also male. Also familiar. But still not Bruce. Where the hell was Bruce? He knows it’s bad. But does Ollie know? He really can’t remember ever feeling this awful before. He has to say something. Tell Ollie that he needs help. He just can’t will his body to do anything, can’t remember how his voice works. He manages to mumble something out, but he’s pretty sure no one heard him. 

“It’s…not good. Call up to Dr. Mid-Nite. We need to get him to the watchtower yesterday,” Dick, somewhere in his mind, is relieved that Ollie seemed to get it. That Dick wasn’t ready to give up yet. He can hear the faint sounds of someone speaking but isn’t sure if he understands any of the words. 

“And as soon as you’ve done that, call Batman,” he can hear Green Arrow say from somewhere far away. He barely understood the actual words. But Bruce. Bruce was coming. He’d make this okay somehow. Even if it was too late, at least he’d be here. That’s all Dick had really ever wanted. He knew it was bad, that he should fight it, but the thought that he wasn’t alone anymore comforted him. The male voice, the one that wasn’t Ollie, was still there, speaking steadily. Lian…he could hear her faint sobs from somewhere nearby. 

“Come on, stay with me,” Something was tapping the side of his face. If it was painful, it didn’t register above the pain in his side. Ollie’s voice was the clearest, and Dick knew he was talking, but it sounded mostly like gibberish. He kept telling Dick to hang on. To stay with him. And Dick tried. He really did. But he doesn’t think he pulled it off.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> One more chapter to go!


	5. Chapter 5

He smells antiseptic before anything else. Lots of it. And he can tell the lights are bright even though his eyes are closed. He’s too tired to open them. But it’s okay. Wherever he is, it’s warm, and comfortable, and he’s just fine with that. There’s a rhythmic beeping somewhere off to the side. He may not know this place specifically, but he knows this situation. A med bay of some sort. The cave? Probably not, it’s usually cold and dark down there. Dr. Leslie’s clinic? Possible. Kinda quiet for that though. He wonders what it is he did to himself this time. He really can’t remember. He doesn’t feel any pain, meaning he’s probably hopped up on some good painkillers, at least. But he’s still curious. He cracks his eyes open slowly, just a bit, taking in the off-white walls and fluorescent lighting that greet him. He tries to sit up, to see if he still has all his pieces, see if he can remember anything. His head feels like it’s floating, but his limbs feel much too heavy. He’s pretty sure he doesn’t make it far before he flops back down into his pillow with a dull thud. 

“Dick, stop,” he hears, and when he opens his eyes a figure comes into view. A dark figure. It takes a moment for him to realize that it’s Bruce, Batman gear still on but cowl pulled back to reveal his face. And somehow he knows that, wherever he is, it’s okay. 

“Bruce?” He asks weakly, not believing what he sees for a moment, though not knowing why he doubts it. He blinks hard. Twice. Bruce is still there. He looks tired. And concerned. Like he hasn’t slept in days. There’s a large hand resting against the pillow near his shoulder that he’s sure is Bruce’s, at the ready if Dick were to try getting up again. 

“Take it easy. You just got out of surgery,” Bruce tells him. To anyone else the voice would sound formal, maybe a bit detached, but Dick knew better. It was Bruce’s voice, not Batman’s. 

“What happened this time?” Dick slurs out. His voice is too quiet, and hoarse, but he’s glad he got the words out, even if only just. His body doesn’t feel like his own, responding much too slowly to his commands, if at all. 

“You don’t remember?” Bruce asks him. Not judging, this time anyway, but simply inquiring. Dick does notice that Bruce’s hand hasn’t left the pillow yet. He doesn’t want it to. Has a strange need for Bruce to be as close as possible right now. 

“Of course I do. Just making sure you haven’t gone senile,” Dick bluffs. His eyes stay open just long enough to see Bruce’s lip quirk into an imitation of a smile. He can’t quite manage one of his own yet. 

“We called the Titans to help us neutralize a threat by Lex Luthor,” Bruce starts. And Dick…kinda does remember that, actually. “At some point, and we still aren’t sure exactly when this is since you took off on your own, you got hit with a piece off of an I-Beam from a nearby building collapse,” he continues. There it is. The disapproval Dick had been waiting for. At least he deserved it this time. He remembers taking off on his own to try and hit Lex where it hurt, remembers how stupid he thought the plan was just after he realized his communicator wasn’t communicating. 

“I-Beam? Is that what it was?” Dick asks. At least that filled in part of the story he hadn’t known before. Not that it mattered, really, but Dick always liked to stay informed. 

“Yes. A piece of one, best we could tell. It lacerated your liver and nicked your hepatic vein. You were incredibly lucky it wasn’t the artery,” Bruce tells him, his voice taking on a hard edge. Yep. Bruce was pissed. He’d expected that. He’d made mistakes. Lots of mistakes. If it were one of his team, if it had been Tim or Bruce that had pulled a stunt like that, he’d be tearing a strip off them for it as soon as he was able. He was sure Bruce would be doing the same with him eventually. Probably Alfred too. And Babs. 

“You’ll be out for a few weeks, but Dr. Mid-Nite doesn’t foresee any long-term complications,” Bruce tells him, his voice taking on a slightly softer tone. Dick nods, eyes closed, as he takes this in. He’s not in pain, but he is tired, feeling run down. Just a shade shy of loopy. Bruce made it sound like it’d been pretty serious. And he remembers being scared. Really scared. Especially when Lian couldn’t reach anyone on the comms. Wait…Lian!

“Where’s Lian?!” Dick asks urgently, eyes going wide. The memories rush to him all at once. He tries again to get up despite Bruce’s hand moving quickly to his shoulder, his eyes frantically looking around for the girl. To his shock, she was nowhere to be found. Shrapnel be damned, it was Roy that was gonna kill him. 

“Dick, stop! Stop. She’s fine,” Bruce assures him in his usual steady, even voice. Dick wasn’t sure if it was the words, or Bruce’s hand resting on his shoulder or just the effect of the drugs that made him allow Bruce to lower him back down gently. “Last I saw her, she was with Oliver. They’re probably with Red Arrow now,” he assures him. Dick closes his eyes tightly. She was with Ollie. And Roy. That was good. But why was she here at all? In a medical facility?

“Why is she here then? She got hurt, didn’t she?” Dick asks miserably, throat tight, using the last of his strength to challenge his adoptive father. He didn’t care anymore. He’d never forgive himself if anything had happened to her. 

“Dick, she’s fine. Red Arrow took a piece of shrapnel to the leg. From the same building collapse that you got caught in, by the looks of it,” Bruce explained. It did little to alleviate his fears though. He was already too on edge to come down now, too caught up in his own apprehension. 

“Roy was hit? Is he okay? Is anyone else hurt?” Dick found himself asking. He could hear the monitor speed up beside him. He’d been so focused on himself just now, on seeing Bruce…his friends could be dead for all he knew. God, he’d screwed up so bad. Not just as a hero, but as a leader too. 

“Dick, calm down,” It was an order as much as it was a comfort. An order Bruce gave as though it were something easy. As if the room wasn’t starting to feel smaller and smaller around him. “The only serious injury was yours,” Bruce assures him, though with a touch of disapproval he just couldn’t quite keep out of his voice. Dick takes a breath in to steady his nerves. Feels his breathing start to even out, the sting of tears in his eyes starting to fade as he took the information in. Bruce keeps his hand on Dick’s shoulder, warm and steady. It helps. He doesn’t care if he’s hurt, so long as no one else is. He can take that. Though he isn’t sure Lian’s mental scarring will ever go away. 

“I can’t” Dick says pathetically. Later, after he has control of himself back, he’ll blame this outburst on the drugs. Not the memories. Not the deep worry for those around him. No. Just the drugs. Nothing more. 

“Yes you can. Everyone is fine,” Bruce assures him. His voice is so calm and steady, so full of confidence, that he can’t help but be comforted by the words. He feels the fight leave him slowly, his body start to relax. Bruce’s hand still hasn’t left his shoulder. He isn’t sure why. The thought tires him, along with all the other thoughts swimming around in his head with nothing to anchor them to reality. He feels his head flop into his pillow, hair falling over his face. 

“You might have to pay Lian’s therapy bills for the next 20 years or so. Just a heads up,” Dick says tiredly, unable to keep the sleep out of his voice fully. He knows Bruce picks up on it when his hand leaves Dick’s shoulder to instead gently brush away some of the hair that had fallen in his face. 

“Duly noted. It’s the least I can do,” Bruce says. He had a feeling he owed the girl far more than he could coherently remember. That they both did. Bruce’s hand lingers in Dick’s unruly black hair, brushing a strand behind an ear before going for another. Bruce could be like this sometimes. Strangely affectionate just after he’d almost lost one of them. It feels like just minutes ago that Dick was pretty sure he’d never have Bruce close like this again. 

“You got Lex, right?” Dick asks as an afterthought, unable to linger on his previous train of thought, but not wanting the moment to be cut short by sleep. He needs a distraction. For both of them. The last thing he needed to do was worry Bruce any more than he already has. 

“We stopped his rampage, but he’s still out there,” Bruce says. Dick figured that’d be the answer. Lex Luthor always seems to get away with it somehow.

“Typical,” Dick says with a bit of a scoff. 

“Unfortunately. Are you tired?” Bruce asks him, changing the subject. He’d get details later he was sure, but right now? With all the warmth and the floaty feelings and Bruce right there...yeah he was tired. 

“A little,” Dick admits. It’s more than that. He’s had half this conversation with his eyes closed. His body’s been through a lot of trauma today…or yesterday, who even knows anymore? 

“You should get some more sleep,” Bruce encourages him. A part of him wants to resist. To rebel. He’s pretty much made a career of not doing what Bruce tells him to, but this time he might make an exception. 

“That doesn’t sound like a bad idea,” Dick says weakly. There’s no real need to hide it now. Bruce knows he feels like he was just hit by a truck. This isn’t really new for them. Bruce sits, or at least it sounds like he does, in a nearby chair, which causes his hand to leave Dick’s hair. Dick can’t help but let out a small noise of displeasure, holding out his hand for Bruce to take instead. He feels something pull, an IV line probably. He really isn’t sure if Bruce will even take his hand. Under normal circumstances, he wouldn’t have even tried, but Dick is feeling needy and thinks he might get away with it this time since he nearly died and all. 

“Be careful. It took three tries to get that first IV in, you won’t enjoy the next three,” Bruce warns him. It’s probably all he’ll get out of Bruce. Disappointed, he starts to pull his arm back in when he feels Bruce’s hand against his own, gently squeezing before settling down on the soft bedding. A part of Dick can’t believe he’s actually gotten what he wanted. A bigger part of him reminds himself that mentioning it was the fastest way to get Bruce to stop. 

“I’ll be careful,” Dick mumbled, sleep starting to overtake him despite his desire to hold on to this moment for as long as possible. 

“Go to sleep. I’ll be here when you wake up,” Bruce assures him. He knew the promise was as good as gold. It was just enough to convince him to give in to the tiredness that never actually left him. To finally let himself rest. 

~~~

It was the quiet that really got to him. He hadn’t really had to deal with it until now. He’d spent the past two days sleeping, only occasionally staying awake longer than an hour or two at a time. Bruce had been there most of the time, but they hadn’t allowed him other visitors until today. There had been a steady stream of people all day. Wally and Donna. Uncle Clark. Bruce had even brought Tim by in the afternoon before patrol. He’d loved it, every second. But they’d all had to leave eventually, which left Dick alone in the quiet with only his thoughts to keep him company. His dark, scary thoughts. Bruce would be back, probably after patrol or before work while Dick was asleep, just to check in, and Wally promised to come by after he was done with monitor duty, but Dick knew that would still be another hour or so. He wasn’t sure he could deal with his own head for that long. Wasn’t sure he could spend that long trying not to think about what had happened. What had almost happened. The things that would never happen if that other thing had happened. The people he wouldn’t get to be with anymore. Bruce had told him about how upset Tim had been when he’d learned that Dick was hurt as bad as he was. Tim hadn’t looked anything but happy this afternoon, but it still haunted him. So much of it still haunted him. 

He feels a wash of relief when he hears the knock at the door. A distraction would be great right about now. But when he turns his head to see who it is, his blood runs cold. It’s Oliver Queen. In his civilian clothes. Waiting patiently for Dick to acknowledge him. Dick wants to say something, he really does, but seeing the man brought back images of Lian’s wide fearful eyes, of puddles of blood and Ollie in his Green Arrow costume huddled over him, telling someone to call Dr. Mid-Nite. To call Batman. It comes back to him in a rush, and he isn’t ready. He shifts uncomfortably, unable to find his voice. 

“I heard they’re letting you have visitors now,” Ollie says finally. His tone is light, almost joking. It’s comforting in an odd way. Dick honestly half expected anger for what had happened with Lian. He’s still sort of expecting that at some point. It was a well known fact in the League that you did not mess with Green Arrow’s family. Then again, it was also well known that you don’t mess with Batman’s family either. Hopefully the two would cancel each other out. He’s really had enough of getting impaled by objects, arrows or otherwise, for the time being. It takes a moment for him to realize Ollie is staring at him, waiting for some sort of answer. 

“Yeah, finally. It was getting pretty quiet in here,” Dick answers eventually. He keeps his tone light, but he feels anything but. If Ollie hadn’t come here to yell at him, then why was he here? Probably to visit Roy, but why stop to see Dick? The guy who’d put his granddaughter through hell just days ago? 

“I’ll bet. Bruce isn’t exactly known for his great conversational skills. Not around here anyway,” Ollie says offhandedly with a shrug. Dick could keep that joke going all day. If he wanted to. He’s guessing Ollie didn’t come here to discuss Bruce and Dick had more important questions anyway. 

“How’s Roy? Is Lian with him?” Dick asks, unsure of his words. It’s atypical of him. He can usually at least fake confidence if he has to, but he’s just not feeling it right now. He’s tired, still hooked up to lines and machines that confine him to a hospital bed, and most of all, he knows he has a lot to answer for. 

“Roy’s okay. Whatever hit him broke a bone in his leg, so he won’t be on the field anytime soon. They’re keeping him here to watch for infection, but I should be able to bring him home in a couple days. I’m hoping after he’s out of here he’ll stop complaining at me,” Ollie starts with a slight roll of his eyes. Okay. Roy’s had worse than that and bounced back. Bruce had said he was fine, of course, but Bruce’s definition of ‘fine’ was shaky even on a good day. Dick feels the muscles in his shoulders relax just a little bit. 

“He won’t stop complaining until the cast is off,” Dick warns him. Ollie knows this already. Roy isn’t exactly the type who’s happy sitting around the house watching talk shows, and he’s certainly never been shy about letting everyone around him know that. Over and over again. They’d learned that very quickly in the Teen Titans. 

“Lian’s been asking about you,” Ollie informs him in a quieter voice. His face is neutral enough that Dick can’t tell what he’s going to say or do next. He can’t help but feel nervous. He’d really hoped she’d have started to move past the whole incident. Apparently not. The tension in his shoulders returns three-fold. He feels his chest get tight. How was he ever going to fix this? How was he even going to explain this? 

“I’m really sorry if I scared her. Really. I had no idea she was in that bunker until I was already there. If I’d known…” Dick starts to explain. He isn’t sure what he’s looking for here. Ollie’s forgiveness? His scorn? He needs someone to know that he really was sorry about the whole ordeal. That he would have done just about anything to spare her that. Ollie takes a few slow steps forward, practically at his bedside now, and puts a hand out to stop him. 

“Dick, I’m not mad at you. I mean, I’m not happy about it, but I know you tried to look after her,” Ollie tells him. Dick studies his face, looking for any signs of deceit, any reason the words might not ring true. His face seems relaxed, his eyes warm, until it twists into an unimpressed frown a second later.

“You know, despite what the big bad Bat’s told you, not everyone is lying to you at all times,” Ollie says before he can respond, completely calling him out. Dick has to suppress the urge to flinch. Oliver Queen isn’t a stupid man, despite what he’d like people to believe, but Dick should really be better than that. To get caught studying someone else so blatantly…

“I…I’m sorry. It’s just a little hard to believe,” He explains feebly, his eyes looking to the thin comforter on the bed. He catches when Ollie shakes his head out of the corner of his eye. 

“You Bats are all the same, you know that?” Ollie says in an exasperated tone, similar to the one he usually seems to reserve for Roy. “What else were you supposed to do? You were bleeding to death,” He’s sure Ollie’s intention is to ease his worry, but those words, very suddenly, send a shiver down his spine. He feels his mouth get inexplicably dry, can’t seem to remember how to speak anymore. He knew logically that the statement was true. He really hadn’t expected to wake up after the last time he’d lost consciousness, but no one had quite phrased it so bluntly up to this point. You were bleeding. To death.

“She’s handling it okay. For the most part,” Ollie adds, perhaps sensing that he needed to steer away from the topic. It’s enough of a distraction from the shock to give him back a sense of reality. Lian had been so brave the other day. It sounds like she hadn’t stopped being brave. 

“I know it’s probably not much of a consolation, but it sounds like I’m really lucky she was there,” Dick said. He was trying to be reassuring, maybe even trying to make light of it, but he just felt kind of numb. His voice had trembled midway through, even before the feelings had fully hit him. If Lian hadn’t been there…if one part of the puzzle hadn’t fit together exactly as it had…why was this all coming up now? In front of Green Arrow? He was thankful. He hadn’t wanted to die, not then and not now. Why couldn’t his mind just leave it at that? 

“How much has your old man told you?” Ollie asks, drawing him out of his thoughts. For now. There’s a strange look on his face. Dick can see the slight frown, the concern in his eyes. Ollie knows something isn’t exactly right in Kansas. Maybe it’s the meds they have him on, or the long, long day, but Dick feels like normally he’d be able to hide his emotions so much better than this. Green Arrow wasn’t exactly Martian Manhunter. He shouldn’t be able to know what Dick is feeling with just a look. 

“Not much, really. I mean, I remember some of it, and I’ll read the report later, but…but he hasn’t told me much,” Dick admits with a shrug. Bruce was weird that way sometimes. Normally, he insisted they get all the facts, analyze every little detail to exhaustion whether they were pleasant or not, but when it came to him and Tim, to personal matters, he’d go out of his way to make sure they didn’t know too much too soon. Bruce’s version of being over-protective, he’s learned over time. 

Ollie nods and takes the seat by his bedside. The same one Bruce had been occupying the past couple days. Dick watches his gloomy eyes turn away, a hand run through his blond hair, before he speaks. 

“It was close. You were damn near dead by the time the comms started working again. Mid-Nite says if the call had come in ten minutes…” Ollie starts, but Dick interrupts him quickly, not quite ready to hear the last part of that sentence. 

“How did you end up finding me?” Dick asks in a rush. Ollie eyes him suspiciously for a moment, clearly caught off guard by such an obvious interruption. It wasn’t meant to be subtle. Dick doesn’t dwell on it. He does want to know, after all. He’d been so out of it. He could only remember bits and pieces. And hearing about what had happened was much better than talking about what could have happened. “It was you right? You and…someone else?” Dick adds as an afterthought, realizing that it could have easily just been his mind playing tricks on him at that point. That, for all he knows, it could have been Green Lantern instead of Green Arrow who had come to his rescue. 

“That was me, alright. The ‘someone else’ was Connor, he radioed into the Watchtower,” Ollie confirms. The statement clicks too. Connor Hawke. He didn’t know the other Green Arrow very well, but that was definitely the voice he’d heard. “Your intel was good by the way. They found whatever contraption Luthor was using at your first set of coordinates. Wonder Woman did quite the number on it.” Ollie tells him, sounding a little bit too cheerful about the situation, “And if she hadn’t destroyed that damn thing, I would have. I didn’t realize the comms were down until after Roy got hit. I couldn’t get him off that roof for well over an hour,” Ollie tells him, cheer leaving his voice in that last statement. Dick knows that Batman isn’t the only over-protective parent in the League. He can practically feel Ollie’s disdain, his frustration. He’d felt it too. On that rooftop. Once he’d realized the chances of a medical evac were slim to none and slim had just left town. 

“I got the call from Lian a few minutes after that. She heard my voice on the comms. Apparently you told her how to answer them,” he adds, raising one eyebrow as he looks sidelong in Dick’s direction. 

“Lucky for me, someone put her in the system,” Dick retorts, leaving Ollie with a devilish smirk he can barely hold back. Dick won’t tell anyone and Ollie damn well knows it, but the man still doesn’t say anything in actual words to incriminate himself. Lucky was an understatement. It had been more than lucky. Not just that she was in the system, but that she had done so well under the pressure. 

“I still don’t understand why Lex targeted the comms like he did,” Dick admits after a moment. He’d been thinking about it since the incident, and nothing really added up. It was disruptive, but it served no apparent purpose. He already had the mechs in place and the League occupied. 

“Who knows with him? Hell, maybe he just wanted to see if he could. I hate to admit it, but it messed us up. Bad. It’s really a miracle no one died,” Ollie says offhandedly. He doesn’t mean anything by it, but the thought causes Dick’s breath to catch in this throat. He really should have been that casualty. The realization he’s been trying to hold back, the fact that he had come within minutes of actually dying, starts to bubble up to the surface. Again. He manages to stifle it, but he knows he can’t bottle it up forever. If all goes to plan, he’ll have his freak out. In the privacy of his own apartment back in Bludhaven. And no one would ever know. He can see Ollie starting to eye him a little suspiciously, that look of concern flashing in his eyes again. 

“Are you okay? You’ve been pretty quiet,” Ollie asks him eventually, sounding gentle, but just authoritative enough that Dick knows he wants an answer. 

“I’m fine, just a lot of blanks still to fill in,” Dick says quickly with a small shake of his head and smile he doesn’t quite feel. He isn’t sure if he pulled off ‘convincing’, but Ollie doesn’t question it, simply nods as he leans forward in his chair. The room is silent for a long moment. 

“Anyway, it’s getting late. Roy’s probably wondering where his babysitter is. Would you mind if I brought Lian by on the way out?” Ollie asks. He stands, straightening out his jacket before resting a hand on the railing of Dick’s bed. Looking down expectantly. Dick can say no, he knows he can say no and Ollie wouldn’t hold it against him. Lian wouldn’t hold it against him. And he probably should. He’s drained and knows he’s not in the best headspace right now. But he can fight through the fatigue, can fight through the feelings it’ll bring up. He wants to see her. 

“No, I wouldn’t mind,” Dick says immediately. He’s nervous about seeing her deep down. He knows logically that Lian is okay. Probably shaken, but she was tough. Ollie had said that much. He isn’t sure why, but he’s struck with the sudden need to say more. To let Ollie know just how much she’d impressed him the other day. 

“She’s smart, you know. Great instincts. If you don’t hurry up and make her Speedy, Bruce might swoop in and make her the next Robin,” he knows the joke is tasteless. Dick himself really isn’t sure how he feels about allowing children into battle, even if he does understand it completely. He’d needed Robin at the time. All the sidekicks had needed their roles at the time and all of them had been more than willing despite the great risks involved. Not everyone could wrap their heads around that. There were members of the league to this day who still strongly disagreed with the concept of taking on sidekicks. Ironically, Green Arrow had been one of the members who’d been against it in the beginning. Dick even remembers being present for one meeting where he’d stood up and exclaimed that the league didn’t need any dead kids on their conscience. That was before Roy came along. After meeting Roy, he got it. Understood why some heroes needed sidekicks just as much as the sidekicks needed them. But that was also before Jason. After Jason, everybody was questioning if having a sidekick was ethical. Everybody. Dick could see both sides, because he was one of a select few with a unique perspective. He was the first. And while he’d never actively encourage anyone to go the route he did, he’d never hold them back from it either. 

“Maybe Batman had a death wish, but I don’t,” Ollie laughs, as expected. Dick always gets a pass on the tasteless sidekick jokes. “Roy would put an arrow right through me for even thinking it. Batman might get away with it. Everyone’s afraid of him. Except you, which might mean you’re the craziest one of all of us,” Ollie says with a shake of his head. Dick laughs. Then pauses. The action isn’t painful, per se, but he does feel it. There’s a noise from the railing as Ollie removes his hand. 

“I’ll bring her by for a few minutes. And Dick?” Dick doesn’t have time to reply before he feels a steady hand clasping his shoulder. “Good to see you coherent again,” Ollie finishes simply. His hand gives a small squeeze before he lets go completely. 

“Thanks, Ollie. For…everything,” Dick says, unable to convey exactly how much the man’s actions the other day, the honesty he’s offered him now, means to him. 

“Anytime. But…don’t use that as an excuse to do anything stupid,” Ollie warns him with a wry smile.

“I think I’ve exceeded my ‘stupid’ quota for the year,” Dick half-jokes back. He was sure Bruce would be telling him that much once they deemed him stable enough for lectures. Not that he didn’t already know…

“Your words, not mine,” Ollie tells him. He nods before he temporarily leaves the room. It’s an understanding. No judgment. They’d all been there at least once. 

~~~

He expects the knock on the door this time, and takes a deep breath before he turns to see Ollie, with Lian standing shyly behind him, peeking in just enough to see but no more. He swallows around the sudden tightness in his throat. The guilt. The memories. This was so much easier with Tim. 

“Hey Lian. I hear I owe you roughly a million thank you’s,” Dick starts, trying to entice the girl in with a joke. It doesn’t seem to work initially, as she just turns her cautious green eyes up to Ollie for guidance. Ollie nods shallowly and ushers her in with a barely audible ‘go on’ as he stands by the door. Watching, but with no intention to interfere. She complies, taking one careful step, then another into the room. She doesn’t quite meet his eyes as she shrugs, a little bit of hair falling into her face from the action. 

“It’s okay,” she tells him, scuffing one of her little red sneakers on the metallic floor, “are you feeling better now?” she asks nervously after a moment. Dick hates so much that she’s this nervous around him. He knows the monitors and IV’s probably aren’t helping. And he can’t be the only one in this room dealing with unpleasant memories, but it still stings a little. She hasn’t been this nervous around him since she was an infant, and even then it was only for a couple weeks. 

“Yeah, a lot better. Thanks to you. They said I’ll be good as new in a few weeks,” he tells her as lightly as he can. It’s a half-truth. Barring any complications, the damage would heal in a few weeks, and he would be well enough for active duty again, but Dr. Mid-Nite warned him that it could be months before he was back to 100%. It’s just another reminder of how lucky he really was to have found Lian in that bunker when he did. To his relief, the information seems to ease most of her initial fear. They’d most likely told her that he’d be fine, he had a hard time imagining that Roy, Ollie or any of the other Arrows would withhold that part, but hearing it and seeing it were different. 

“Do you think maybe when you’re better, you can teach me to do cartwheels?” She asks in a slightly louder voice, taking a couple more hesitant steps into the room. Dick can’t help the small laugh. He can feel his stitches pull slightly with the action and knows he’ll have to be careful about that. Bruce would never let him hear the end of it if he ripped those. He couldn’t help it. He had not been expecting that at all. He’d nearly forgotten the conversation he’d had with Lian last month about how to do flips. Apparently she’d seen him do one of his practice routines one day, he had no idea which one, and Roy told him later that Lian had been somewhat obsessed with taking gymnastics class ever since.

“Sure, if you want to. We can start with cartwheels and go from there,” he assures her. He watches as her eyes light up with the response. Dick saw no harm in teaching her a few things. It was the least he could do after all this. 

“Really?!” she asks, smiling widely. The relief floods him so quickly he isn’t sure what to do with it. That was the Lian he knew. The Lian he was worried he wouldn’t be seeing again for a long, long time. And all it had taken was the promise of cartwheels. 

“If it’s okay with your dad,” Dick assures her and he watches the smile get impossibly bigger as she turns to Ollie, still standing vigilantly in the doorway. 

“Did you hear that?! Uncle Dick’s gonna teach me gymnastics!” she tells him excitedly. Dick thinks he even sees her bounce off the floor a little. 

“I heard,” Ollie says from the door with a half-smile, “Dick taught your dad a few things too back in the day,” he informs the excited girl, who turns back to Dick with wide eyes. 

“You did?” she asks. Dick chuckles, but notes that it causes a dull ache where he’d been impaled. Must be the meds wearing off, but it’s barely anything. Certainly nothing compared to the pain he’d been fighting through before this. In fact, it’s almost laughable. Ironically. 

“Yeah, but it was a long time ago. When we were kids. I taught your dad some gymnastics and he taught me how to shoot a bow,” Dick tells her. It’s a nice memory, one he hadn’t thought about for years. Roy was being kind of a jerk during one of their training sessions, which was nothing new. Dick didn’t know if he was just bored or trying to get a rise out of him specifically that day. Either way, it had started a typical teenaged pissing match between them, culminating in Roy claiming that using a bow was way harder than Dick’s stupid little flips. Neither of them had ever been good at backing down, so the challenge had been accepted. 

“I didn’t know that,” Lian says thoughtfully. Dick avoids chuckling this time, but can’t help the smile that comes over his face. He really isn’t sure now why he was so apprehensive about seeing the girl. 

“Well your dad doesn’t really do gymnastics anymore and I can’t fit a bow in my costume,” Dick explains, causing the girl to laugh. It’s like music, and he’d wondered not so long ago if he’d ever hear it again after all that he’d put her through. The thought sobers him. He isn’t sure he can ever thank her properly, but he really does, above all else, need to apologize. 

“You know, Lian…I’m really sorry if I scared you the other day,” he says and waits. The joy on Lian’s face disappears, but it isn’t replaced by fear or trauma. The girl instead looks…pensive. 

“I…was scared, but I wasn’t too. I don’t really like it when people get hurt,” she articulates as best she can. Oddly enough, he thinks he gets it. He was a child vigilante. He clearly remembers being young and seeing Bruce get hurt. Remembers feeling both brave and scared, when his concern forced his body to act even as his mind was practically frozen in fear. He’d never really thought about it much after the fact, because he maybe didn’t want to remember that part of his childhood, but it was in the past. He’d moved on from it. 

“I don’t really like that part either,” He admits, “But you were really brave. You helped me a lot. Not too many kids could do that,” he tells her. She shrugs again and looks away a little, but he can see just a hint of a smile playing across her lips. 

“Grampa Ollie helped too,” she says meekly. Dicks hears Ollie scoff from the doorway. 

“Who me? I was just following your orders,” he tells Lian. She looks to him with an impish smile. 

“Like Oracle?” She asks him, causing Ollie to laugh just a little bit. Dick too, though he tries to suppress it. 

“Yeah, a little bit like Oracle,” Ollie says warmly. It’s no secret how proud the man is of her. His smile gives it away completely. And why shouldn’t it? He has every reason to be proud of her. 

“I’ll have to let her know she’s gonna have some major competition in a few years,” Dick chimes in, much to the girls delight. Roy had also mentioned that she’d really come to idolize Oracle as something of a hero figure. He suspects it has something to do with Barbara’s unique ability to boss everyone around and get away with it. He hasn’t told Babs yet. Though knowing her, she probably already knew. 

“Whoa, I’m not interrupting anything, am I?” Came a new voice from just behind Ollie. Dick recognized the voice of his long time best friend immediately, if not the familiar whoosh of air that usually follows a second or two behind him. 

“Hi Uncle Wally!” Lian greets from Dick’s bedside, which she’d inched closer to over the course of the conversation, with a wave. Ollie turns as well to regard him. 

“No, you aren’t interrupting. It’s getting late and we need to get going anyway, don’t we Lian?” Ollie says, just a touch sternly as the girl pouts. 

“But you said I didn’t have to go to school tomorrow,” she whines, crossing her arms with a huff. 

“No, but you still have to go to bed on time,” Ollie informs her. Dick has to hold back a laugh at how displeased she looks at that statement, and it looks to him like Wally is trying to do the same. She reminds him so much of Roy sometimes. Challenging things just for the sake of challenging things. 

“When Uncle Dick was little, he got to do homeschool,” she points out. Wally loses his battle to hold back his laughter. Dick has to hold his breath so he doesn’t as well. Movement is uncomfortable, he has to remind himself. And Lian probably wouldn’t appreciate it as a response to her point anyway. He’s impressed that she remembered that. Still, he feels he should help Ollie out. 

“It’s really not as fun as it sounds. You still have to get up early, and there’s never anyone to play with at recess,” Dick informs her. Her nose scrunches up as she considers this. 

“Oh. I didn’t think of that part,” she admits. She gives a small huff, resigning herself to her fate, as she turns back to the door. “We can come back another time though?” she asks Ollie, who nods. 

“We gotta come get your dad anyway, don’t we?” He points out. It seems to pacify her and after a moment she walks over to him with heavy footsteps, holds out a hand for him to take. “Say goodnight,” Ollie reminds her before he takes her hand in his own. 

“Good night Uncle Wally! Goodnight Uncle Dick! I’m glad you’re feeling better,” she says with a wave as she starts leading Ollie out of the room. Dick thinks he hears him say a fleeting goodbye too as he’s quickly lead out by the six year old, but he isn’t sure. 

“Night, Lian,” he manages to get out. He really isn’t sure if she heard him or not. It seems the exhaustion from the day, the waning effects of the pain meds, hits him all at once the minute she’s out of sight. He’s tired enough that he didn’t even notice Wally, changed into his civilian clothes, had sat down until he spoke. 

“You’re never gonna live down getting your ass saved by a six year old girl, you know,” Wally points out teasingly. Dick laughs slightly, the action starting to feel painful now. He bites back the groan he wants to let out, reminds himself that he’ll be fine. He’s alive and that’s all he can really ask for. 

“Oh please. Everyone in the JLA’s had their ass saved by a kid at some point,” Dick retorts. It was true enough. They’d been those kids, after all. 

“That may be true, but I’m still not letting you live it down,” Wally says with a smile. Dick had expected as much. He’d probably do the same if their roles had been reversed, because that’s just what best friends did. “You up for a movie? The satellite is amazing up here,” Wally asks, waving a remote that Dick hadn’t noticed him pick up. 

“Sure, seeing as it’s about all they’ll let me do anyway,” Dick points out bitterly. Sitting still for long periods has never been a skill he was able to master. Bruce had tried. Repeatedly. And now he was looking at days, if not weeks, of exactly that. They hadn’t discussed it yet, but he assumed Bruce would want him to go to the manor for that time. To keep an eye on him, let Alfred take care of him. And he knows it’ll lead to frustration, more fights with Bruce, hurt the sense of independence that he’d worked so hard for, but this time, he wants it. He would deny it all day, but deep down he knew that he got clingy when he was hurt or sick and this time would be no different. He’d have to think of a way to subtly plant the idea into Bruce’s head later.

“And they say I have a short attention span,” Wally says with a shake of his head. The TV is quickly flicked on and turned to the guide. Dick watches it absently for a while, mostly just watching the colours flicker and trusting Wally to turn it to something good if he sees it. It’s been a long time since Dick actually sat and watched a whole movie. With no case to work on and confined to a bed, maybe he can actually enjoy it too. An actual movie night. What a novel idea. 

“Where is Roy at anyway? Maybe we should go get him if we’re gonna do a movie night,” Dick suggests. Ollie probably would have mentioned if Roy had talked about killing him for what happened with Lian, right? As it was, having finally seen the girl himself, he feels much more confident confronting his long-time friend. To his surprise, Wally laughs and Dick looks at him with a suspicious gaze. 

“We can’t. He’s under some kind of quarantine for the next couple days,” Wally informs him. Dick can’t quite connect the dots on that one. How did the story go from a broken leg to quarantine? 

“Seriously?” he asks. Ollie had mentioned them monitoring for infection, but it hadn’t sounded serious…

“Yep. Apparently Dr. Mid-Nite found some kind of trace bacterium he didn’t like on the rebar that hit Roy. He’s holed up in quarantine for the next couple days till they’re sure he didn’t catch anything,” Wally informs him, again causing Dick to laugh despite himself. The pain is sharper now, but he can’t help himself. The image of Roy sitting in a special room, bored half to death and planning his escape, was just too funny. 

“Roy must be going crazy,” Dick says. Wally nods enthusiastically. 

“I think Lian being there was the only thing keeping him from starting a fire and escaping,” he says. Dick laughs harder, near hysterically, but it quickly turns into a grimace as he feels a sharp pain, the strain of new stitches being pulled uncomfortably. A hand goes to his stitches instinctually and he has to bite his lip in an attempt to stop the curse he wants to let out. Wally is in front of him in a second. Literally. Helps lean him back onto the pillows as Dick breathes though it. 

“Whoa, Dick, take it easy. You’re liver’s held together by thread, remember?” Wally reminds him gently with a frown. The pain leaves him almost as quickly as it comes about, leaving him with nothing but a feeling of guilt for worrying his best friend so needlessly. For worrying everyone so needlessly. 

“Sorry,” Dick says, removing his hand slowly, mindful of the IV line still in his arm, “I’m fine. I think the painkillers are starting to wear off,” he adds as an explanation. It sounds so much more dramatic out loud than it actually is. This is nothing. He’s already gone through the hard part. 

“You want me to get you anything?” Wally asks seriously. Dick knows he means it too, it’s clear from the worry in his eyes. Dick could probably ask for Chinese food from China right now and he’d go get it for him, no questions asked. Not that they’d let him eat it, but still. Dick ponders it, but ultimately concludes that he really can’t think of anything he needs more than Wally just being here right now. 

“I’m good. They’ll be by in a half-hour with more meds. Guess I’m just not very good at the ‘taking it easy’ part,” Dick admits, though Wally already knew that. 

“Good thing I showed up then!” Wally says cheerfully as he sits back down. “I can teach you all about how to go from watching monitors all day to watching TV all night,” Wally informs him with a smirk before turning his attention back to the guide. Dick can’t help but return it. Wally always had a way of making him feel better, even when he didn’t really know he needed it. He wasn’t sure if he’d ever told Wally that, thinking back. 

“Wally?” Dick asks quietly, trying to get the speedsters attention. Wally’s green eyes turn to him a second later. 

“Yeah?” He says nothing further, waits patiently for Dick to continue with a curious gaze. 

“I’m really glad you’re here,” Dick says before he can pull a Bruce and think better of it. It seems to sober Wally for a moment. They haven’t talked about it. About the thing that had almost happened. They may never talk about it knowing them, but Dick knows Wally gets what he really means. Nothing more really needs to be said between two friends as old and close as them.

“Hey, I’m glad you’re here too,” he tells Dick with a quick pat on the upper arm. The room goes quiet for a long moment. Stationary, aside from the flickers of light from the TV. They’re both well aware of how close this moment, as mundane as it is, came to never happening at all. Dick really doesn’t want to think about it. But in an odd way, it’s all he finds he really can think about in the quiet times. 

“So? What are we watching?” Wally says after a pause, distracting both of them from the real issue. It was just what he needed. The distraction. All of this. Seeing everyone, being with them…it was too close this time. But he would deal with that later. Probably. For now? He was just gonna try to enjoy being alive.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Aaaaand it's finished! That was not an easy chapter to write or edit, so hopefully it turned out alright. A huge thanks to everyone who's commented and left kudos. It means a lot to know that there are people out there who actually enjoyed this! 
> 
> As always, any mistakes? Let me know.

**Author's Note:**

> I miss Lian Harper. Obviously. This fic is basically written and I'm hoping to do a new chapter every few days as I get them edited. If all goes to plan (i.e. if I don't seriously change my mind at any point during the editing phase) I'm thinking like a chapter per week. 
> 
> Hopefully that wasn't too painful of a setup chapter. See any mistakes? Let me know!


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